[Poem by Jørn Hernik Sværen / Translation by Kristoffer Garm Rygg]
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Hear!
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From this day forth
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are the heights of Horeb broken
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and the sea of sulphur
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- ice.
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And blasphemy!
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in heaven`s chambers:
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Souls had fled their halls
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and closed was the book of life.
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And behold!
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The great, white throne:
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black
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with sacred blood.
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Our father -
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Dead by his own hands:
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an epitaph
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worthy no king
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And so ie everything
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a nameless lie.
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Who, my god,
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am I?
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Man knows me
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as Lucifer, the serpent of old
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The wretched hold my banner high.
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Your gift
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- all life! -
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I grant the grave.
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Yet I am not your death
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Come carry forth the crown
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to your once held throne.
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Here is where my suffering should cease
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- but alas: I am crowned
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in grief unheard of!
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In this lone monarchy
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- without friend or foe -
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I greet the morning sun
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with strife and a song:
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Please speak my name!
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And leave me not
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in the dust of death
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I am weighed down
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beneath the tragedy crown, -
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nameless
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and alone,
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a fatherless son.
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-----------------
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Throne of Tragedy
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| Arcturus |
