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I am a walker of dissonant worlds.

Through the mists of desolation i drift.

As the last leaves of autumn fall

I die of pity

for Man, for myself,

I drown in darkness.

Blackclad spectres call my name.

I die of pity,

on a cross without nails.

My journey to the stars ends

on the worn out paths of modern man.

From open wounds seeps black blood

once white feathers are covered in soot.

The flies gather, they are my twisted halo.

Vultures blow the trumpets. Rats tear off my skin.

I am the king of vermin. The god of filth.

I am desolation. The end is near.

There will be no tomorrow.

No future. No dawn for men.

Behold the omen!

An era ends in flames.

The white raven takes flight again,

Behold a blaze in the night!

Against the grain!