Assembly

O, the flame-tongue, kumara Gathered are we, the brethren In the light of the early star On our long journey sent To the sacrificial pit of the old Under all-seeing, fiery eye As your mysteries do unfold We shear the blood of lie For our master appeared to me As a sinister viceroy sent to rule Instead of an incapable king Now: who's the king, who's the fool? Give the king what's justly his to claim Tomb of thought, so frail and low And a sword directed to the skies in blame In exchange for his dominions woe Would you shine, O' Azazel With all the truth there ever may be When you from heights thus fell You armed us with the eyes to see The traces of the lie Fed to us in the dawn of world Indeed you are, in your defy The loftiest kumara of those of the old