Wicked relief, he grieved, as he felt it leave,
'Tis his cross to bear, one cannot make him b'lieve.
In the mirror he stood, frigid, no longer chained,
A soul divided in two, one outcast; both renegade —
Was it you I saw in my ethereal dream?
Or was it a nightmare, haunted by my nightly fiend?
Was it you I worshipped at that broken shrine?
Or was it the devil, saying: "Leave! What is rightly mine."?
Wicked relief, he grieved, as he felt it leave,
'Tis his cross to bear, one cannot make him b'lieve.
In the mirror he stood, frigid, no longer chained,
A soul divided in two, one outcast; both renegade —
Was it you I saw in my ethereal dream?
Or was it a nightmare, haunted by my nightly fiend?
Was it you I worshipped at that broken shrine?
Or was it the devil, saying: "Leave! What is rightly mine."?