English Rendering
The cinnabar peaks coil like lovers’ spines,
This haunted vale in sacred mist entwines.
Halls lurk where cliff-born vapors creep,
Monks sip from veins where stone gods weep.
Serpents and dragons mate in gloom,
Phantoms seal each vaulted room.
Ravines bleed toward altars black,
Mountains kneel where dead trees crack.
Celestial blooms refuse decay,
Moon-milk floods the ghost-road’s way.
This flesh—a sack of sins and woe—
Where shall the damned soul go?
