---

Rejoiced in attrition,

Consume and cripple,

Cut off wings to thrive,

A noose for their ideals

A noose for their illusions,

So as to gaze down from a mound of corpses,

Fly the skies, O! Archangel,

No longer to reach the zenith,

But only to stretch a fall,

A day of reckoning that took its toll,

And the crowd eagerly waits at the gallows.