If ever we live after, then die we shall.
If ever our decendants sinned, then surely they fell.
If ever a man was unsatified with life,
Die with me, ye evangelist, with mortal strife.
I hate thy ideals more than entire books of lies
Or all the vagabonds that the cities spawn like flies.
My malice is such that light cannot shine,
Nor ought but discipline from thee, wreak havoc.
Thy ideals are such I can only dismay,
The heavens will not reward thee conviction, I pray.
Then while we die, in life let's scold the good god
That then while we still live, we shall live abroad.

Penned by my hand on the 1st of Ero, in the year 357 AF.