We are devoid of all hope 
From cradle to grave 
I called out to Gods 
And waited for the sign 
The Gods are silent still 
And the sign to be seen 
The throne of Man
Bows to no lord 
And pride swells within 
And thus sickness is sown 
Soon ripe and all abloom 
For Lord and Lady, beggar and poor 
We have gathered here together 
To see the Victor of the Earth 
On his sacred brow, with great pride 
He bears the crown 
We have gathered here, forever 
To see the Scepter that He holds 
Without effort, firm as stone 
O, His Hand did dethrone god 
Once a morning is to dawn 
With a terrible, whispered sigh 
Loud as a thousand storms 
An epitaph for the Proud