(Based on the poem "Tragediens Trone" by John Henrik Svaren) (Is translated by the undersigned, and hereby dedicated to Kristoffer Garm Rygg) Hear! From this day forth Are the heights of Horeb broken And the sea of sulphur-ice. And blasphemy! In heaven's chambers: Souls had fled their halls And closed was the book of life. And behold! The great, white throne: Black With sacred blood Our father - Dead by his own hands: An epitaph Worthy no king. And so is everything A nameless lie. Who, my god, Am I? Man knows me As Lucifer, the serpent of old. The wretched hold my banner high. Your gift - All life! - I grant a grave Yet I am not your death. Come carry forth the crown To your once held throne. Here is where my suffering should cease - But alas; I am crowned In grief unheard of! In this lone monarchy - Without a friend of foe - I greet the mourning sun With strife and a song: Please speak my name! And leave me not In the dust of death. I am weighed down Beneath the tragedy crown, - Nameless, And alone, A fatherless son. (JHS 1996)