Exuma Metastophaliese
I summon thee
And I call to thee
I set thee free
Metastophaliese
Birds fly too soon the they day
To live again, once again
Metastophaliese
Hi-de-hi [?], I hide the day
I hide the night
When it is time I hide thee away
Metastophaliese
In the crossroads I do sit
In the dirt I spit my spit
You are me and I am you
Come in the form of a comely young youth
Not as a fierce ferocious brute
I suck your juice and eat your fruit
Your blood is my blood
My skin is your skin
Come, cut me and I bleed, Metastophaliese
You are my kin, my, your sin is my sin
Come thee!
Come to me, Metastophaliese
Metastophaliese
Oh, great one, old and son [?]
There is none compared to thee
Metastophaliese