The pope in plain clothes prays at the bottom of the Tiber,
Demons in costume dig graves on the top of the Holy Seat,
Since even the sacred order is subject to decay,
Why not inherit the light from the original darkness?
The rain watered the flowers of sin,
The cold mist dissolves the thick cloud of regret,
Charming Rome, the whore of money,
Beauty was exchanged for desolation.
Now you are the world's abandoned treasure,
Sprinkle crimson ice crystals in September,
This leads to the pain of famine in the harvest season,
You are your own enemy, and your broad sword leaves a visible scar.
Have pity on this city, may the darkness of the world
Not to be swallowed whole by her.