Open, oh bowels of the earth, conspire
Lay might to us this day
Cornica sound, the call, the horn
The intonation of intrinsic decay
Metamorphose, the sword thus am I
Of this law, of this will
Praise be to Mars, the thrust gives no quarter
Purified from that which is k**ed
Marching in arms
And the ma**es to expire
As all past falls away
Unto romanticized funeral pyre
Consumed, civil atavisms smothered by crimson red
Enthrone the lion, the lambs words shall lie dead
With this sword, transcendence I enthrone
"Vendi, Vidi, Vici", with this I slay my soul