Each man who is man, high or low, Holds in his heart an implacable snake Who on a throne his seat does take And rather of his will says no Baffles the law and scraps the lies At the root of the knowledge tree Gazing into this sorcery Incites and feeds obscure desires Whenever our bodies move proudly The Serpent whispers in our ears A secret thought and our arms would bravely Be the worthy rivals of god The Demiurge up his antic chambers, Trying to keep us unaware Godforsaken mortals, we forge our victory From our too many faults, to all our starless dreams When night carries the knives That pave the way to end the scheme For we whose glory was despised Must set our spirits free For what can awaken the beast so soon, Whose sleep has been taken beneath the cold moon As the spells which whirlwinds of witchery may cast The rhythmical number (666) will exhort him to rise! Beyond our prison lies a thought-less realm Where light is mystery for the adversaries