Crowned with a thorn of his lust A slave of Beauty... Like an autumn rain which cries the silver tears and in the God's eye plays the traitor, He clads the joy in sorrow, with a colour of Night paints the dreams to become free... to touch the heart, that gave him life...
Yet the lust has declined Damned be his name
Only the tears have remained, The pieces of ancient splendour dipped in the torment of passion... His sun will never rise again.
Shining with a gleam of fulfillment ...the ray of Love.
Filfillment smeared with blood... a dagger in Your hand;
The flower of Love has died burning with admiration for Beauty, which has never been seen... he didn't understand... he did hate...