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Plus triste que la pierre, la fleur du mal

Oh rage! Au vent, poussières du parfum infernal

Aime-moi, hais-moi sorcière! Oh, fleur fatale!

Que tes épines déchirent ma chair, que brûle leur idéal

Like a worm eating a rose, like a black butterfly

Who draws the precious liquor, the essence of the real

Like a man who never cries, like a woman who never kills,

The incarnate melancholy has enthroned all my being

She had the darkest smile, but tears in her eyes

Delighted in sadness... sad in happiness

The egoistic despair she felt,

The tragical irony I saw in her soul

Enslaved by her fate, she knew her end

My veins are chains that rip my heart

All joy has gone away

Even the snake of suffering is crying

Reality has become a chimera

Good and evil have no more sense

Black and white are no longer opposed,

To become one - I am alone, all alone

Oh! Funeral ballerina! Your dance macabre is complete

Oh! Dark dove! You have taken your majestic flight

I am lost in an ocean of bitterness, I am drowning

Eaten by the creatures of regrets, I only feel apathy

Oh! Mighty apathy... I stand motionless in the moist of my sorrow

I remember her cold carcass, when she was not a carrion anymore

The scythe has cut the roots of my tortured mind

I fall irresistibly toward my destiny

Her outstretched hand getting out the abyss grips my flesh and my soul

Her palms become blades that brings the shadows

The angel cries become tears of blood

The demon's laughters become icy moans

A raven is born... A star starts to shine...

My veins open, a flower wills... I close my eyes and see...