Ideally well, obviously
If you want to kill a child
You should know its name
'Cause it’s only polite
It’s, only polite
It’s, only polite
But in the end, what is a name
But mirrors and smoke?

In the tongue of Saturnalia
Our house is Sleep of death
In the shadows now and forever
Silently we lie in slumber
Our name, our name is pain
Our name is pain

And the voices of the shadows
Shadows gathered like the dead
Metaphorical illusion
Summoned by the need
A desperate need to create
Our name, our name is pain