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?