and the gods and goddess of the mountain Hourai, in their mercy

did visit upon the dying Hero of Man, who is hostless, friendless

wielding but the shaft that holds a piece of a broken sword

wounded in the chest with poisonous arrows from traitors and bretheren

spited upon by each and every one, driven from home by the rabble
of robbers, corrupted statesmen, beggars and lepers

and condemned to death by the righteous Kings, outraged mothers and giddy schoolchildren

besides a clear stream the gods and goddesses of the mountain Hourai

does show their immortal visage, and attempt to confer upon the fallen heroic Prince

a drug that numbs all minds, souls, and wishes. the drug of Hourai immortals.

so to welcome him, the worthy, who fought

against the entire cosmos and mankind, to their rank of blessed spiritus

away from the trouble and care of the seas, of the roads, of the markets, of the mounds. and of songs sung in solitude.

the Hourai drug of forgiveness, of forgetfulness, of forsaking all rights and all guilt too

the eastern nepenthe, brewed from the green juice of the writhing green wormwood

grown rampant and sinistral, distorting the roots

of the ink-sobbing cherry blossom tree that roots itself to the river of Sanzu (eastern Styx)

so all the void of forgiving, forgetting and forsaking that is sealed beneath the earth

in windless grottoes where an underground sea-current does run, and meander in tortuous knots upon knots

till it bites with fume and steam the greedy and evil red burning heart of the cosmos, the heart of the world, the bane of all greenness

waiting to be unleashed when the steamy river of lost memories that bites it (where it is now called Lethe)

drying up, so the green rod of the planet setting downwards against the red burning heart

would be immolated, and in God's demise

shall all the cosmos burn, into a scarlet nothingness

where even heat itself yells for pain

…
and the Hero who is to be forgotten, does shed tears

neither of remorse, nor pity, for his losing fate

against the tides of the world, which drives the clear fountainheads

to war against the redness that blinds and destroys--as the clear stream runs

but yet he is told not to nobly worry, for the green

the greenness of Horai mountain still stands, and each immortal's ghost

sealed in each cave, a hidden sun, though to the fate of immolation

they could triumph not, all the dead moths who drunk divine turpentine to erase

colours find goodness in mountain-dreams

where the rustling of the leaves of green green maple trees and bamboo groves

are the only ocean-chant for their eternal dullards amongst the waves of the erected Earth
…
"Hero, O Hero of Man. Hark me.

Noble Hero called Chiyou of Jiang. *1 Who fought

Against the footmen and horsemen of Cathay

Who fought alone as the dragon against the army,

the dragon called Man

thou art born of the watery deep, emerged, and found on the earth but sorrow

though to the deep thou mayst not return, but stay thus in our green mountain, that conceals

where one day, all that born of the profundity of human chest, now resting in caves

may into the now burning lava pit of the deep deep heart

one day return, so we may burn away our troubles and woes

to become sweet nothingness against all advancing Tides

The woe is always from the Seas, the Troubles

The Tides of Other Men, The Tides of Neighbours

The Tides of the Universe which We do not Understand.

The army which archers had shot you in the chest

With the arrow of ignorance against the advancing Time.

So let Time advance itself to destruction, and let us rest

In this mountain so green, now, drink this potion

"The first time one takes it, one cannot become an adult."
the monster's Child shall always be the naughty Child.

"Take it twice, and even the pain of sickness will be gone. "
even the scent of tears will trouble me no more.
I was born of the deep. I was once immortal against the tides.
King under the Sea, Crowned with bright puzzling corrals and cloudy blue sea-weeds
with sixty-two lithe and beauteous naga-nymphs as my harem
and
sleep within the centre of a white, dimly dreaming Sun.

"Take it three times..."

And this song will end.

Solitude, wherefore?

The immortal sages of the mountain thus quoth:
"Immortality is the worst thing
Seeing everything you know, everything you love
disappear, die, crumble or rot.
But many a centuries of life are worth an eternity of loneliness
For once immortal one becomes,
the company of people thou no longer seekest, nor understands
and though to an eternity of solitude one oneself condemned
Eons will pass, stars will fade, and thou shalt still be there to watch it."*2
The cosmos shall awake and living or dead all alike. When Time's Lot is come.
But thou shalt still be there to watch it as if dreaming.
For when the world awakes, We shall be no more.

The hero takes away the sake-cup that bears the immortal rice wine. This cure.
And looks upon his own heroic face on the surface of the medicine-pond.
Like a blue blooming lotus, the dreamy face.
Of all Universal Manly, of all heroes that came before.
Where at moment of death, is offered this sake-cup.
To forgive, to forget, to forsake. And lose All. So he may care no more.
And all the forgotten mountainous wraiths that could not forget,
Looks leeringly upon the fallen heroic Prince in his final ruin
and bid or hum secret prayer-beads, so He who is mighty and solemn
might among jest and ridicule of his Impotence fall.
For all the Earth collects in the erected caves
Are tomb-loam for the rapaciou holy-eunuch cowards and their sheepish Maenads donning incense
And their aim, the Universal Man's Fall.
"Once you take, Once you take.
O once thou takest it three times..."
…
Where then is my Song?
Hark this then.
"Shut, and Up! Heathen!"
As the wounded Prince-Hero of Man,
Without setting even his tall ridged nose
Upon that writhing ocean of worms' forgetfulness
Pour down all the amrita of gods and goddess
a current of melted virgin divinity, into the dry soil beneath his feet, then
Smashed the red-painted sake-cup into the ground, and to all red pieces
Infinite in number, scatter to the ends of World. But all fall
upon the ground He stands upon
and He speaks thus, hark! This man is jolly delirious,
half a step from death, but makes a good Song!
"Shut, and Hark! Heathen!
I am Chiyou of Jiang, which is in Cathay
means the burn of the tongue. And hark!
I have drunk all I could before, and my tongue is no more
than fire of the night, aetherial, tasting all the cosmos
more than thy petty forgetfulness knows. Men of the Mountains
I was Tides itself, for I am Man.
The measure and totality of the Universe! And the Universe is in my command!
And my retinue of 62 snake-faced women who dance so lithe
churning foam in the river of Styx, and one day becomes fire-breathing Dragon in Lethe also
Shall end the quandary of the mountain once and for all! I am salt!
Unearth me to feed thy children! I am the Sea! Hark!
as the fishes' bright glistening scales jump up live from thy children's mouths! 
Immortality I have smashed it, its blue-green liquery tears
All the elixir of life into the bottom of the Sea I have poured thus
and let those who connect to Him or work against Him, All the Enemies and Friends
the rivers, mountains, and cosmos be drunk. be cursed. be ill. be of eternal life.
And I will be there to end it! I shall swallow the eternity of Mankind!
And doom eternity to eternal doom! I will cup up this mystery of Man!
Solving it, and dissolving all that worthy of manly sorrow.
Into eternal joy I am the true amrita, against divinity
perished and tainted, unyieldingly pure;
of mortal, dying, sorrowful Man!"
And thus, lifting up the shaft, that wields
the broken piece of his heroic sword. he slitted his own throat.
and the river of blood that is amrita rains down upon the soil of the mountain, seeping deeper
into the sea-current running bederneath in the Sun-damned grottoes
than all the cured nepenthe or sanctified absinth. 
until one day it reconvenes with the beating, singing heart of Man.
the inner core of heaven----the inner heart of earth---volcanic rage and desire.
that tells the tale of the Hero of Man, heroic Prince.
Shall never be forgotten in the time-stained green green mountain of Hourai eternal by dark human blood and gore
Where Maple leaves turn red, and Bamboo became yellow and fell.
Whence came the World's eternal autumn, the drunkenness sweet and happy does fill.
The earth-bound cosmic sphere, full of music.
And this song I to you I have did sing and tell.
And the Hero-Prince's flesh, his spirit, his Will might be claimed
by worms in the soil, nagas in the sea, and the burning, beating heart.
the Prince's eternal Self shall never bend, as when Autumn must leave
And the green Spring comes again, and the Wind
Blows the fragrance from the soil, the sea and the burning heart of Man.
and burning the singing tongue.
The Hero-Prince called "I" will surely come again!
Io! I am Man.
Io! I am come!

*1

*2 from the description of a youtube video