Oh, son of mine, take this sword of mystery,
Carry it over the land as fire,
For I have plaited seven metals,
Stardust and the emptiness of nothing into it.
And the cities shall open their gates,
And people shall fall on their knees before you.
Oh, Demiurge, the creator, father of death and mother of life.
You are the sun everything is rotting above, giving birth to a sweet foetus.
You are light for the blind and god for the weakened,

Your creation is death.
And you, the Goatlord failed to win
And blew the fire into us, to take revenge on Demiurge.
You are the lord of ancient cities,
You are the morning of a black dawn,
And life and death are alien to you.
You hate in us the Demiurge's creation,
You love us for we are your children,
Your jar of fire.
So lead us into the battle, to defeat death and Demiurge.
Thus shall we become the third power in the universe,
For we own the might of creation
And the dark stellar light.
We are ye divine race.