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In my last days, I saw illusions,

I saw only pain, on sacrificial altars

These embedded masses, waiting to be exiled

Perpetrating chaos, in this purist’s form

Flaccid scum, the unbelievers,

Await their fate at the end of pillars,

Carved the stones with subordinate hands,

Pile them high for us to commence,

Victims aren’t we all, in trust in one another,

The streams of blood run on, to die for one another

Victims aren’t we all, in trust in one another,

The streams of blood run on, to die for one another

Carved (our) ruins on this apothecary,

Blood spilt on the night of witching

With all the patronized beings gone

On this altar we shall rise

Victims aren’t we all, in trust in one another,

The streams of blood run on, to die for one another,

Victims aren’t we all, in trust in one another,

The streams of blood run on, to die for one another.