Find in me the end of all this pallid race
Find in me the nadir, effete and dissipate
Find in me the crowning blow of this age of decline
Corrupted and weak, decadent, refined
Through fields of asphodel…
Sweet wine of witchery, perfume our fall
For thine impurity the Rose of Charon blooms
Find before you a groaning board
Corpses heaped with rotting fruit
Extravagant decay in gasping ruins laid
A rebours et sans salut!
Fly not the craven course of sanitas and strength
In spleen and song and mire, the smitten harp inspires
Through fields of asphodel, traipsing the empire of sorrow
Raise high your chalice child, drink to our demise
Drink deep! Poison deliver us all
From vile submission to life
Only the indolent know
What calming dishonor
What vile submission, life