Onwards here; there's mud to feed
And how many paving-stones?
Times will tell when Samael is near
And how many monikers more?
And curse the dead ones, scattered in the sea,
all you Christian thieves.

The fury of our songs is quenched
And how many broken chords?
What I despise has seeped through
And how many settlements more?
And curse the dead ones, scattered in the sea,
Onwards here if you believe.

And some of us would say
There is no hope.
Steer [bad word] of the blindfolded.

Wandering Jew who taunted me
And how many teasers more?
The world too grand to feel free
And how many inner wars?
Curse the dead ones, scattered in the sea,
Onwards here if you believe.

And some of us would say
There is no hope.
Steer [bad word] of the blindfolded.