The blood ray from the setting sun awoke the mantra forsworn,
the Spiritus voice of the sacrament sang out the hangman´s call,
and I have pledged myself to a truth beyond the ways of a hallow world,
and the blood that bleeds from the execution will breed life to the ways of the pure.

Yet his eyes mirror those of Christs´ with hair of angel dust, he drinks upon the nights breath as the jackals guard his flock.

The voices call from the altar, false tongues can here be cut, mark me the devine deliverer, bathing in the Devils blood.

Yet he pleads like a mortal child, masked within my own flesh and bones, his shrill voice marks the battle cry. The (my) child I pledged to crucify

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