In the hollow of night, in the pleasure of pain,
In my burnt splinted mind I soon shall find you again. 
In the dead cold of fear, in the tears of deep mourn,
On the short path to death you never leave me alone.
Now I do know your name, your confessions of fate:
You had not turned to Christ, even when it's been late,
Had refused to deceive, hadn't seen reasons to hide...
Could you show me the way to your Hell of twilight,
When Great Rome rises up, when comet tears the sky,
When the Antichrist's born, when we both have to die?
I have learned what you've done, and I have not been scared:
You've been trying to reveal truth, but nobody cared,
You've been trying to feel safe, but your soul, torn apart,
Has not been stolen back to you from the false God,
Who did hate you, as you were perfect like Lucifer,
And to force you to pray was that He just couldn't dare,
So He used to stay back, to fall His knees again,
And you told Him He had been playing saint in vain...
Than Great Rome did rise up, comet did tear the sky, 
And we learned it was Jesus, who forced us to die,
So until present day we beg Satan, thrown down,
To forgive our blindness, to let treat his wound...
I still hear people say you must never be born,
They are still so afraid of each newcoming dawn,
Being too weak to make sure you curse came to the end...
Do not listen to them: they just don't understand.