Atop the shameless tower

With wings outstretched

An apprehensive shadow is cast over all

Drain us of our divinity

And leave us dry amongst the dirt of men

In the worst of our nightmares

We are weak and servile

We are week we are week as martyrs

Fear runs through our veins

Hung for grandeur and fate

We hang lifeless

With blind eyes turned from daylight

We deny deny deny we deny

With blind eyes turned from the glare of being

Loathe that which we are

I abhor the undiscerning

No more of my blood will be shed of pity

With an empty and unforgiving heart

Once more I scream to the sky

For I am mine

The rot of subordination I burn away

I am mine

I am mine