a decrepit scenery lying before my eyes,
withering as the sun's slowly blackening,
day by day. Hanging on the seventh cross,
violent rays sear my skin, bloody sweat is dripping

from forehead to soil. A desolate desert draining mankind

and still white roses firmly bloom despite this cursed sun,
a wreath comely encircling my site of martyrdom.
singular symbol of resistance to the blackened sun
whose torturous shine eating away my anima.

Hope long unmasked as the sly plague (that) it is,

The mind: burst in myriad pieces, not unlike
faerie dust softly blowing away in a gentle breeze.
I embrace this laughter of madness that echoes
through my weakened mind let it be my strength

Beneath this heaven so bleak.
I Subject the mania
to bring clairvoyance
where none is to be expected, so...

I abandon hope, the deceiver
I distrust reason, the belier
I subdue passion, the beguiler

My sore ideals
summon the cynic,
cultivate and harvest his wisdom and strength.
Wretch
my soul
to defy the wretched spawn,
So let the tempest come
let it all just fade away

sacrifice to cleanse a tainted sun. This path,
guided by white roses, may have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat,
but at its end the world will bloom once more.
Never to affect me ever again, for better and worse.

and still white roses firmly bloom despite this cursed sun,
a wreath comely encircling my site of martyrdom.
singular symbol of resistance to the blackened sun
White roses under a black sun

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