My Rage, beyond the starless deep
This, the only hate of pure intent,

The hypocrites jest in their aimless envy
Speaking in tongues of ancient wisdom,

Ways spoken of a God vanquished long ago
Great folly in the failure to see the root of true evil,

Pale and frigid, porcelain painted death
So hungry in their need for a savior, so weak,

Bane brings himself among the trees, Guised within winds so cold,

Of God and Blade, I sing a prayer of sharpened steel