Prickles falling from the world's crown in skies created by treachery.
World! Where are your weapons? Where is your bravery?
It is the unstoppable thunder, unerring like shots of the archer.
O' my god! Wolves are wandering about the land.
They were ever dead, undying. Stop and shiver!
Oh beautiful world, where has your glimmer gone? Where is your pride?
Apocalypse now!