Alone I forge the black shadow of my soul,
a portrait turning darker.
An unfinished picture won't comfort.
It won't bring solace under shadow's reign.
I could begin well,
I wish I could finish some day.
Why do I keep going on the way that leads
to an ugly portrait,
to a travesty of a man,
to a life of a mangy dog,
to remains, that make you
no profit no loss.
Alone I look at my creation shining in the night.
It stretches its claws, it calls for its servant
to play "follow the leader",
to walk the road that leads to hell.