Hear the vertebrae of the angel
on which our recovery is scanned with no rest.
"My fire purifies"
Follow my son's flames touchin th sky,
where the throne of the Creator belongs,
between clouds of dizzines.
...and scream awful blasfemies in the earsof
the enemies who will fall in front of You.
Spit stream of lava in their eyes unable to see.
Satan, withdraw these unshaped bodies refusing
sight these wounds will never be healed,
glorify the Father who saved your life.
"Father, I have already created flames
more blinding that the sun
and counted tears will soon extinguish it,
in the dusk You'll see my power and will know
madness in the attempt to oppose me.
But I will always be the son You generated
and by denying it will deny yourself.
Even if it's impossible to reach You from my
incessant hate, new sins will come to rouse
this pyre of spirits...
...losing a fight, however I prevail!