In dread silence, the blackness of night comes again to the circle-studded sky.

The stars settle slowly, in long loneliness they lie,

Until the Universe explodes as a falling star, in martyrdom, is raised:

The Heavenly bodies are all paralyzed, all the mountains are amazed,

But they all glow all the brighter from the brilliance of the blaze,

With the speed of insanity. Then, He died.

In the verdant fields turning fast, a child is born.

His cries crease the wind and mingle with the coming morn':

A bold assault upon the order, the changing of the oldest guard,

Chosen for that challenge that is hopelessly hard,

And the only single sound is the shuddered sighing of the stars,

But to the silence of the Heavens' distance they are sworn.

Images of innocence beseech Him to journey on,

Still, the decadence of destiny ever searches for a pawn.

To a nightmare of knowledge he opens up the padlocked gate,

And so a blinding, binding Revelation is laid upon His plate,

That beneath the greatest Love is a wild hurricane of Hate,

And God save the critic of destiny, the dawn.

So He stands by the seaside and He shouts to the other shore,

But the louder that He screams, the longer He's ignored,

For the wine of oblivion is drunk to freedom's dregs,

And the merchants of the masses almost have to be begged,

Until the giant is aware, that someone's pulling at His leg,

And someone is tapping at his massive door.

Then, His message gathers meaning and it spreads wide across the Land.

The rewarding of His pain is the following of the man.

But ignorance is everywhere, and false prophets have their way:

Success forever is the enemy to the losers of a given day.

In the shadows of the mighty churches, God knows, what do they pray?

For the Lamb's blood, is the language of the band.

The Spanish bulls are all but beaten, the crowd is soon beguiled.

The Matador bows, majestic, a symphony of fashion and of style.

Excitement is ecstatic, passion places purile bets;

Gracefully He bows to the grand ovations that He gets,

But the hands that are applauding Him are slippery with sweat,

And saliva is falling from their wicked smiles.

Then this overflow of life is crushed onto the tongues of liars.

The Gentlest Souls are ripped apart and tossed into the abysmal fire.

First, a smile of rejection at the nearness of the certain night;

Truth becomes a tragedy limping from the greatest Light.

All the cannons are horrified in silence: they stagger weakly from the sight,

As the Cross hangs trembling with desire.

They say they can't believe it, it's a sacrilegious shame.

Now, who would want to hurt such a Hero of the game?

But you know that I predicted it, I knew He had to fall

How did all of it happen? I hope His suffering was small.

But still, tell me every detail, I've got to know it all;

And, do you have a picture of the pain?

Time takes her weary toll and the memory fades,

But His glory is broken by the magic that He made.

Reality is ruined, it's the fleeing from the fear.

Drama is distorted, to what the hungry masses want to hear,

Swimming in their fiery sorrow, in the twisting of a falling tear,

As they wait for a new martyr's thrill parade.

Yes, the eyes of the rebel have been branded by the blind,

To the safety of sterility, the threat has been bonded and confined.

The child was created, to the slaughterhouse He is forever led.

Oh God, it's so good to be alive, once the eulogies are read!

And to bask in the Climax of false emotion: the worship of the dying and the dead.

In the cycle of sacrifice, the World unwinds.