[based on the poem 'Tragediens Trone' by John Henrik Svaren] [is translated by the undersigned, and hereby dedicated to Kristoffer Garm Rygg]
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.