Perverted minds of creatures made in the image and likeness of Jaldabaoth breeds the art of all shapes of torture. They will never change. But as they are gone to the past, now they don't have hands, to hide their faces from the phantoms shedding from their miserble nature. No even eyes to spill a tear. The torture never ends.
Those tongues of flame which man cannot tame Are entwined on obscured divinity's breed, As resentment, depressed by phobias and shame Grows unto Elysium's gardens, make heavens bleed.
We are mortal scum they threw to burn. We were hungry for freedom and guilty of sin. Ohh, Lord of subterranean world! Do show no scorn. Taste our souls and let us all in!