Every defeat's a little death.
It's a disaster for the weak,
but for me it's just a challenge,
a passage to another me.
And therefore, rouged with blood and ashes,
I'm singing on my way to [bad word] 
I'm dancing toward Golgatha,
I'm guided by an inner knell.
There are many shades of black
and that I use the signs you've chosen,
that I'm talking in your tongue,
doesn't mean that you're my friend.
I don't want your [bad word] pity,
'cause one gets it for a song,
but your jealousy honours me,
for which I`ve been working hard and long. 

From a silent Yearning dark
a secret, mighty spell is born.
Beneath a red sky burning cold
from my ashes I will rise.