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    From this day forth
    are the heights of Horeb broken
    and the sea of sulphur-ice.

    And blasphemy!
    in heaven's chambers:
    Souls had fled their halls
    and closed was the book of life.
    And behold!
    The great, white throne:
    with sacred blood

    Our father -
    Dead by his own hands:
    an epitaph
    worthy no king.

    And so is everything
    a nameless lie.
    Who, my god,
    am I?

    Man knows me
    as Lucifer, the serpent of old.
    The wretched hold my banner high.
    Your gift
    - all life! -
    I grant a grave
    Yet I am not your death.

    Come carry forth the crown
    to your once held throne.
    Here is where my suffering should cease
    - but alas; I am crowned
    in grief unheard of!

    In this lone monarchy
    - without a friend of foe -
    I greet the mourning sun
    with strife and a song:
    Please speak my name!
    And leave me not
    in the dust of death.

    I am weighed down
    beneath the tragedy crown, -
    and alone,
    a fatherless son.

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