We were sons of insurrection, doomed to face the dark alone.
´Till vicarious perfection, dearly won, was made our own.
So where´s your landslide, where´s your victory?
Tell me now, where´s your sting?
Unassailable you waited, the great enemy of man,
´till your awful jaws were sated, and we were ransomed from your hand.
Now that you have been disarmed,
We will cross over unharmed.