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The hundreds and the meters, under the ground
The lowly, lowly workers, are digging sand
Ancestral customs, and design, prime elected
At end of work, there comes the wick
Come in here, come in there
Enter peculiar atmosphere
Down in soul down in heart, down into the center, the center
Plunge in core, plunge in core
The penitent is living neither month
Nor by the weeks, nor by the weeks
Epiphania it keeps a day
The Penitent still goes onward
Award waits on the wall
Feelings so perceptible
Come in here, come in there
Enter peculiar atmosphere
Down in soul down in heart, down into the center, the center
Plunge in core, plunge in core
The penitent is living neither month
Nor by the weeks, nor by the weeks
Epiphania it keeps a day, it keeps a day
