Unfortunate the hoax that you are not immune
For if beauty was hurt
Like children Naked and misused
We would aspire towards states of disturbed emotions and never need to mirror off like shadows of a Greater Joy

While moralist angels prepare their heavenly cocktail lounge

In darker institutions they are beyond discipline and Repentance is no option

But do not dispair
I know of an Exit
Destruction Thinkers travel the other way around
Where directions are none and the ground is gone
Such treacherous gates to enter. Even bigger doubts inside.
Doors shut from the outside and you hear the sound of someone walking away
You just disappeared in a backsweep of Darkness and Stars

Et blekt avdagsleite
Famler hen, til nattvart himmel
Vandring hjem, til nattsvart himmel
Vandring hjem I eismal
Under skumringens tidligste stjerne
Tusm_rket dypner I det fjerne

Du nordavind, jeg speider fjern og n+r
Kommer du igjen fra de _e land hvor ingen mann er?

Tilsammen - vi to. over beksvart hav

Enn om du aldri hit vil komme
Jeg tilbyi deg mitt kj_lnende blod
Evig vil min sjel skue mot nord
Stundom mitt sinn skal reise
Til tid tar slutt paa jord

Hver en j+vel vill
Som sank I vann f_r tid var til...
Jeg drev forlatt og vandret vill
Ennu har du ikke h_rt mitt hill
I tomme natten skimjet jeg
Et glimt av land, en evig ild

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were - I have not seen
As others saw - I could not bring
My passions from a common spring
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone
Then - in my childhood - in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In it's autumn tint of gold -
From the lighting in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by -
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that look the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

Hear!
From this day forth
are the heights of Horeb broken
and the sea of sulphur-ice.

And blasphemy!
in heaven's chambers:
Souls had fled their halls
and closed was the book of life.
And behold!
The great, white throne:
black
with sacred blood

Our father -
Dead by his own hands:
an epitaph
worthy no king.

And so is everything
a nameless lie.
Who, my god,
am I?

Man knows me
as Lucifer, the serpent of old.
The wretched hold my banner high.
Your gift
- all life! -
I grant a grave
Yet I am not your death.

Come carry forth the crown
to your once held throne.
Here is where my suffering should cease
- but alas; I am crowned
in grief unheard of!

In this lone monarchy
- without a friend of foe -
I greet the mourning sun
with strife and a song:
Please speak my name!
And leave me not
in the dust of death.

I am weighed down
beneath the tragedy crown, -
nameless,
and alone,
a fatherless son.

Hear!
From this day forth
are the heights of Horeb broken
and the sea of sulphur-ice.

And blasphemy!
in heaven's chambers:
Souls had fled their halls
and closed was the book of life.
And behold!
The great, white throne:
black
with sacred blood

Our father -
Dead by his own hands:
an epitaph
worthy no king.

And so is everything
a nameless lie.
Who, my god,
am I?

Man knows me
as Lucifer, the serpent of old.
The wretched hold my banner high.
Your gift
- all life! -
I grant a grave
Yet I am not your death.

Come carry forth the crown
to your once held throne.
Here is where my suffering should cease
- but alas; I am crowned
in grief unheard of!

In this lone monarchy
- without a friend of foe -
I greet the mourning sun
with strife and a song:
Please speak my name!
And leave me not
in the dust of death.

I am weighed down
beneath the tragedy crown, -
nameless,
and alone,
a fatherless son.

("No! this face is only a mask, a wicked ornament,
illuminated by an exquisite grimace,
Look and see, atrociously contorted,
The real head, and the sincere face
Turned back under the shadow of the face which lies"
Charles Baudelaire)

He is profanity in sanctity's guise
An alias assumed I do realize
In their eyes, his cause -
when enticing and cunning in impact
is still a criminal and evil act

So look for him vainly,
He, the incarnation of magickal nature
He turns unrecognizable even to the experienced eye

You obsessively pursue him
Failing to see, hat was why he came to be
one who annihilates with such impunity

He appears your friend, but
the Saint hides many Satans
He's contemptuous, you know
of your Godgiven stupidities
He calls you in question with
affected modesty and create
of you an object of derision

You think him to be pariah
whom company does exclude
But in the midst of all frenzy
He is - feasting in a transitory mood

Passion is a strict lord
He is also its humble slave
When bereft of common ways,
He strides before you on water
He makes clowns of kings,
charm the guests, rides the ball
Is the master of disguise

Prince of the thousandfold face
the charming jester's smile
which invites reason to demise
and imaginations rise
Inscrutable yes, venting his spleen
Somewhere night and day between
Is the master of disguise

("No! this face is only a mask, a wicked ornament,
illuminated by an exquisite grimace,
Look and see, atrociously contorted,
The real head, and the sincere face
Turned back under the shadow of the face which lies"
Charles Baudelaire)

He is profanity in sanctity's guise
An alias assumed I do realize
In their eyes, his cause -
when enticing and cunning in impact
is still a criminal and evil act

So look for him vainly,
He, the incarnation of magickal nature
He turns unrecognizable even to the experienced eye

You obsessively pursue him
Failing to see, hat was why he came to be
one who annihilates with such impunity

He appears your friend, but
the Saint hides many Satans
He's contemptuous, you know
of your Godgiven stupidities
He calls you in question with
affected modesty and create
of you an object of derision

You think him to be pariah
whom company does exclude
But in the midst of all frenzy
He is - feasting in a transitory mood

Passion is a strict lord
He is also its humble slave
When bereft of common ways,
He strides before you on water
He makes clowns of kings,
charm the guests, rides the ball
Is the master of disguise

Prince of the thousandfold face
the charming jester's smile
which invites reason to demise
and imaginations rise
Inscrutable yes, venting his spleen
Somewhere night and day between
Is the master of disguise

I have everywhere sought,
and nowhere found
So I lift the bleedin' bodkin
And trust the grief deepest in

The gleaming bodies of the infinite skies
Have for my spirit
The cold charm
Of death's welcoming eyes
In secret to my soul
They are ideals of old