Though weakness bends my knee, and though i bow my head
A voice inside is speaking from the dead
Though dead i'll be upon a week or so,
I still remember things from long ago,
From when my head i raised,
And though the only gods i praised,
Were money, lust and greed,
And though i've spread the devil's seed
in neither heaven, nor in hell
do i believe, so cast a spell
of weakness on my other knee
So i can rest in peace and infinite tranquility.