O' mother, my mother, Do you weep for my sins? Your tears fall asunder, Seeps through my fickle skin.
Cleanse this pitiful fool, Poignant rain bleeds the soul. Forgive my star-scorned blood, and banish your bastardly son.
Accursed flame, Your tender warmth I despise. O' accursed flame, Your maddening chaos only blinds.
Let it be me, That bears this blasphemous brand. Let it be me, That wears these golden alloyed eyes.
If I must be born to this curse, Let me be the king of curses. If I must be sentenced to this torment, Let me wield every suffering moment.
I will rise from ash, and conquer this fate. I will emerge victorious, Amidst these deceitful eyes. I will burn with passion, Each gilded and impudent throne. And bring chaos to a new order — A world enraptured by thy accursed flame.