举起最红的柱子。敲响一只钟，

Raise reddest columns. Toll a bell

拍打充满锡的空洞。

And clap the hollows full of tin.

将文件扔在大街，死者的

Throw papers in the streets, the wills

遗嘱，在他们的封印中保持庄严。

Of the dead, majestic in their seals.

而美丽的长号——目睹

And the beautiful trombones-behold

他的靠近，一个既无人相信

The approach of him whom none believes,

又被所有人误认为所有人都相信的

Whom all believe that all believe,

异教徒，坐在蹭亮的汽车中。

A pagan in a varnished care.

在蓝色吉他上滚动一只鼓，

Roll a drum upon the blue guitar.

从顶端倾斜。大声叫喊，

Lean from the steeple. Cry aloud,

“我在这里，我的敌人，

"Here am I, my adversary, that

面对你，吹响敏捷的长号，

Confront you, hoo-ing the slick trombones,

然而带着一点点苦楚，

Yet with a petty misery

内心，一点点苦楚，

At heart, a petty misery,

你终结的永恒序曲，

Ever the prelude to your end,

这倾覆人和岩石的抚触。”

The touch that topples men and rock."