The Throne of Tragedy

	作词 : John Henrik Svaren, Garm
	The Throne of Tragedy

	based on the poem “Tragedins Trone"
	by John Henrik Svaren, is translated
	by the undersigned, and hereby
	dedicated to Kristoffer Garm Rygg

	Hear!
	From this day forth
	are the heights of Horeb broken
	and the sea of sulphur-ice.

	And blasphemy!
	in heaven’s chambers:
	Souls had fled their halls
	and closed was the book of life.
	And behold!
	The great, white throne:
	black
	with sacred blood

	Our father -
	Dead by his own hands:
	an epitaph
	worthly no king.

	And so is everything
	a nameless lie.
	Who, my god,
	am I?

	Man knows me
	as Lucifer, the serpent of old.
	The wretched hold my banner high.
	Your gift
	- all life! -
	I grant a grave
	Yet I am not your death.

	Come carry forth the crown
	to your once held throne.
	Here is where my suffering should cease
	- but alas; I am crowned
	in grief unheard of!

	In this lone monarchy
	- without a friend of foe -
	I greet the mourning sun
	with strife and a song:
	Please speak my name!
	And leave me not
	in the dust of death.

	I am weighed down
	beneath the tragedy crown, -
	nameless,
	and alone,
	a fatherless son.

	zuò cí : John Henrik Svaren, Garm
	The Throne of Tragedy

	based on the poem " Tragedins Trone"
	by John Henrik Svaren, is translated
	by the undersigned, and hereby
	dedicated to Kristoffer Garm Rygg

	Hear!
	From this day forth
	are the heights of Horeb broken
	and the sea of sulphurice.

	And blasphemy!
	in heaven' s chambers:
	Souls had fled their halls
	and closed was the book of life.
	And behold!
	The great, white throne:
	black
	with sacred blood

	Our father
	Dead by his own hands:
	an epitaph
	worthly no king.

	And so is everything
	a nameless lie.
	Who, my god,
	am I?

	Man knows me
	as Lucifer, the serpent of old.
	The wretched hold my banner high.
	Your gift
	all life!
	I grant a grave
	Yet I am not your death.

	Come carry forth the crown
	to your once held throne.
	Here is where my suffering should cease
	but alas I am crowned
	in grief unheard of!

	In this lone monarchy
	without a friend of foe
	I greet the mourning sun
	with strife and a song:
	Please speak my name!
	And leave me not
	in the dust of death.

	I am weighed down
	beneath the tragedy crown,
	nameless,
	and alone,
	a fatherless son.