In a portrait of evil and beauty, sneers she, Empress of ravens and owls

By a firmament flourished of darkness she's adorned with nettle and thorns



Throned'neath the fiery deluge, the tears you once wept

Then turned to tongues of flames under Samael's spell

Thou givest to the prescribed that disdainful glance

Wich damns the crowd gathered around the scaffold

With branches as frame Artemis navigates the night

While the horizon thou scan nigh the Duke of Rains

Laid onto meads of decrepitude are crying the Legions of Pride



"Non Servian!"



"Tough wind, that moanest loud grief too sad for song;

Wild wind, when sullen cloud knells all the night long;

Sad storm , whose tears are vain, bare woods whose branches strain;

Deep caves and dreary main, wait for the world's wrong!"