Gone is the light
Dead is the sun
On these wasted plateaus
Where only wolves [bad word] 
The temples that men built
Are now naught but places of guilt
Gushing forth [bad word] and filth
Themselves covered in cleanest silk

Now the snow is black
The sun, painted black
Yet I travel with a torch in my hand
Wandering the length and the breadth of this land

The sun is sleeping behind the clouds
Its fire stolen by the hounds
We unleashed upon him
We were the Prometheus of our time
Unknowing the depth of our crime

The sun is sleeping behind the clouds
Its fire stolen by the hounds
We were the Prometheus of our time
Left wondering the depth our crime

sword on my shoulder
An axe on the other
torch in my fist
The fire in my heart

Gone is the light
Dead is the sun

Yet I travel with a torch in my hand
Climbing the highest mountains
Wander the length and breadth of this land
To carry fire to our fountains