Before the end, before the silence fell, we gathered here like lost dead souls approaching the gates of hell. To stand amid the throng and hear the victory song.
This is the sound of everything we've won. This is their bones snapping in time to the meter of our pumping blood. This is vultures in the sky, a hooded figure standing by, the madmen singing out the killing song.
Between each line a false eternity appears, and now the sirens' ceaseless scream resounds like music in our ears. It swells to a reprise, we've come to recognize the madmen singing out the killing song.
After the end, after the silence fell we gather here like lost dead souls approaching the gates of hell. To blend in with the throng, to sing our victory song.