The steeple screams in glory
Up in the boundless sky;
‘The Beast is dead!’ bells thunder
And all rejoice but I.
Sweet wine from ceaseless toasts
Pours out a drowning flood;
But the glasses crimson-crusted
Seem clotted thick with blood.
The day is won; his bones
Moulder in the dark unknown.
In a daze under the stormclouds,
I am with him, and alone.
Justice sprung from murder,
Salvation bought with sin;
The Beast is dead, long live the Beast,
His new home is within.
