It withers all the year round and blooms only once a year.
On day which will be my birth for all worlds that I don't know.
Which have been waiting for me bombarding with the light of stars.
Lashing down with frost and embracing with tongues of rain.
I will die when the rose blooms.
The gate is big. It reaches to heaven. And hell.
The first step is difficult. Feltering and uncertain.
Drunk with the new experience.
The gate is big but only a light push is enough and the demons
of dreams become my shield and armor.
The guardian angel put to shame falls into the hood of night.
Black mirrors reflect hundredfold every silent breath of my thoughts.
Feltering hope becomes my command.
Is the crown for me? Yes, it is! I deserve the throne, the
sceptre and the cloakwoven out of blood.
Is the crown for me? Yes, it is! I deserve the cloak woven out
of blood, because of blood I've made the sacrifice.
I am the beginning and the power. Prefather. Cosmose.
The gate is big but I move it with a breath of my will.
Light kiss of my imagination's lips.
Does the night wake up the power? Can the spirit be invoked only
by secular rites? Is there only one path?
The answer is my name.
Name written in all books and fragrances of all flowers.
Extracted from the inside of woman body. Moist and hot.
My name - Man! Kneel you idiots, prophets! Kneel you gods!
With a hand stretched out I reach the fruits of knowledge.
Bitter. Hot. Sweet. Titbits of the nightmares.
I have crucified the rose. The gate is big, there is only one path.
Kneel you gods! I am the Man!
In a stretched out and weak palm I hold gifts for you.
I hold storms, lightnings, rain and sun. Incorruptibl
