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.