Lasciate
Ogne
Speranza
Voi
Ch’intrate
Observe the ruin with your painted-on eyes,
Ignoring below your world’s demise…
You hear the void chanting, “My Martyr, My King.”
But that’s a mere tune your dying mind sings!
Lasciate
Ogne
Speranza
Voi
Ch’intrate
Lasciate
Ogne
Speranza
Voi
Ch’intrate
You offered your hand as if I’m in confusion,
Telling it’s rotting flesh is an illusion;
You tried to convince that of same blood we’re painted,
Yet never you felt just how much yours is tainted.
In hands of creation you were made a freak,
You carved to your likeness our whole race unique,
All of us turned bolts in machine that you own,
“Behold now and worship this prison – your home.”