Is pain the truth to which I dare My mind to confess itself in Is blood the only message? That I would believe to be the truth? These wells from which I drink Can they feed me enough? So my body at least dissolves with a smile And not the yearning of blood-red eyes Filled with hate to my life
I fill the chalice and drink again once more My becoming of the prophecy horizon
For I have lived an entire existence And it was no one there Only the dim, which treaded before me to fade And again brought tears to my eyes
I refill the chalice and drink again Once more My becoming of the prophecy horizon
And if you were here to stand where others Have fallen before me What would be your prophecy? What would be your message?
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