Plus triste que la pierre, la fleur du mal
Oh rage! Au vent, poussières du parfum infernal
Aime-moi, hais-moi sorcière! Oh, fleur fatale!
Que tes épines déchirent ma chair Que brûle leur idéal
Like a worm eating a rose, like a black butterfly
Who draws the precious liquor, the essence of the real
Like a man who never cries, like a woman who never kills,
The incarnate melancholy has enthroned all my being
She had the darkest smile but tears in her eyes
Delighted in sadness Sad in happiness
The egoistic despair she felt,
The tragical irony I saw in her soul
Enslaved by her fate, she knew her end
My veins are chains that rip my heart
All joy has gone away
Even the snake of suffering is crying
Reality has become chimera
Good and evil have no more sense
Black and white are no longer opposed,
To become one I am alone, all alone
Oh! Funeral ballerina! Your dance macabre is complete
Oh! Dark dove! Your have taken your majestic flight
I am lost in an ocean of bitterness
I am drowning
Eaten by the creatures of regrets
I only feel apathy Oh! Mighty apathy
I stand motionless in the moist of my sorrow
I remember her cold carcass, when she was not a carrion anymore
The scythe has cut the roots of my tortured mind
I fall irresistibly toward my destiny
Her outstreched hand getting out the abyss grips my flesh and my soul
Her palms become blades that brings the shadows
The angel cries become tears of blood
The demon's laughters become icy moans A raven is born A star starts to shine
My veins open, a flower wills I close my eyes and see