a decrepit scenery lying before my eyes, 
withering as the sun's slowly blackening, 
day by day. Hanging on the seventh cross, 
violent rays sear my skin, bloody sweat is dripping 
from forehead to soil. A desolate desert draining 
mankind 
and still white roses firmly bloom despite this cursed 
sun, 
a wreath comely encircling my site of martyrdom. 
singular symbol of resistance to the blackened sun 
whose torturous shine eating away my anima.
Hope long unmasked as the sly plague (that) it is, 
The mind: burst in myriad pieces, not unlike 
faerie dust softly blowing away in a gentle breeze.
I embrace this laughter of madness that echoes 
through my weakened mind let it be my strength 
Beneath this heaven so bleak. 
I Subject the mania 
to bring clairvoyance 
where none is to be expected, so...
I abandon hope, the deceiver
I distrust reason, the belier
I subdue passion, the beguiler
My sore ideals 
summon the cynic, 
cultivate and harvest his wisdom and strength.
Wretch 
my soul 
to defy the wretched spawn, 
So let the tempest come 
let it all just fade away
sacrifice to cleanse a tainted sun. This path, 
guided by white roses, may have nothing to offer but 
blood, toil, tears and sweat, 
but at its end the world will bloom once more. 
Never to affect me ever again, for better and worse. 
and still white roses firmly bloom despite this cursed 
sun, 
a wreath comely encircling my site of martyrdom. 
singular symbol of resistance to the blackened sun 
White roses under a black sun