| watching from a distance | |
| the strangeness of their fate | |
| their deaths put my life to shame | |
| but we? do we feel ashamed? | |
| are we ugly with grief? | |
| honour me | |
| savagely | |
| a dead youth | |
| a sacred fever | |
| a chest still swollen with hope | |
| feed these lands with dead men | |
| we serve their cult in secret | |
| our hearts are heavy | |
| our sense of sin | |
| from a distant impossible past | |
| we sing the love of danger | |
| of unconditional loyalty | |
| of blind devotion? | |
| this is not a time for silence |