Golden lord, wise ruler
Blessed man from higher spheres
Often and loudly have you called me such
Ever do you laud me,
Saying amongst yourselves
"Such blessings as his do I wish"
O infinitely confounded condition!
What shroud doth cover your eyes?
What cloying scent palters with your senses?
That still you do not see
My sinner's hands, taloned as some beast
So steeped in blood that no redemption
Have I under Heaven
And by every lie, deception and falsehood
That hath woven and slithered
Through venom dripping maw
Mine honour be tattered and stained
Beyond hope of cleansing, sanctifying or justifying
And still, lighted fools, you clap and cheer me
And name me a blessed man
It matters not. If this truly be my reputation
I must bear it till the last
You will not see me for what I am
Therefore I must become that which you do believe
What strange and joyous burden!
That will not pull me down to depth depraved
But deliver me to greater heights