The bitter taste of sweet desire,
Comes veiled by the night's cold fire,
Upon the lives you wish to lead.

If the salt comes from the sea,
Guard your sacred leaves,
And put them on the fire to burn,

In between these tales of us,
We must turn to rust.

If the salt comes from the sea,
Guard your sacred leaves,
And put them on the fire to burn,

As a hero not a saint,
The people know your name,
In between these tales of us,
The reaper of this land.