Onwards here; there's mud to feednAnd how many paving-stones?nTimes will tell when Samael is nearnAnd how many monikers more?nAnd curse the dead ones, scattered in the sea,nall you Christian thieves.nnThe fury of our songs is quenchednAnd how many broken chords?nWhat I despise has seeped throughnAnd how many settlements more?nAnd curse the dead ones, scattered in the sea,nOnwards here if you believe.nnAnd some of us would saynThere is no hope.nSteer the rudder of the blindfolded.nnA Wandering Jew who taunted menAnd how many teasers more?nThe world too grand to feel freenAnd how many inner wars?nCurse the dead ones, scattered in the sea,nOnwards here if you believe.nnAnd some of us would saynThere is no hope.nSteer the rudder of the blindfolded.