歌词
Angelic host, cry ye may,
But turn your gaze on me
For no tear of heaven's volume
Can unbind the manacles of what sentence
The penitent eyes divulge.
Atone for what filth thou must witness impartial,
And through one, remit compassion.
It is in the pureness of day that such atrocities hide,
So dusk, I must become.
Lo there I descry what contorts between the hold of iron,
No semblance of the gentle stride which Eden sheltered once.
May your misery renew me.
Cries met with the mercy of none are
Beset by a phalanx of granite expression,
The drought of eyes from heaven.
Unmoved, untouched by the throes of shameful tongue,
Ye who has impoverished the innocent heart.
Every laceration, every piercing blow
Will serve to remind you of what has been suffered.
No angel in this hour weeps.
Only anguish awaits.