Oh angel of Verum, your truth is the lion’s sword.
Solomon is calling, pride in your vanity.
My great apterous one, in no eyes have you fallen.
You’re adorned with the paleness of celestial beauty.

And behind your back, I praise your deeds,
Fill this temple with blood,
I’ll drown in glory not worship,
A symbol like a halo around your neck.

I live for the day this play will end,
So I can remove my mask,
Tell the story of my heart and pride,
Until then my face I hide.

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