I saw a lover in those shadows

A fusion in the wake of death

That took its rear

In tracks of sanctity

Like bodies crushed

In piercing light

For we are theirs, and in its distance

There is a concord that demands

Even the slightest of all ventures

To shed the world

And go along

Four pallid hands

On a wounded back

Your shrines are open eyes

Formed in the junction of disruption

In trembling archs of bleeding doves

By pallid hands of inner murder

Caressing my cheek

With profound smiles

Four pallid hands

On a wounded back

Your shrines are open eyes

In an empty room

When the chord of wound resounds

In everything

And the corpses turn inside

I know who comes

For a wounded back

Take the pallid hand

We are destroyed

Four pallid hands

On a wounded back

Your shrines are our open eyes

In an empty room

When the chord of wound resounds

In everything

And the corpses turn inside

I know that he comes