These Are Thy Glorious Works, Parent Of

And Sing To Those That Hold The Vital Shears; And Turn The Adamantine Spindle Round, On Which The Fate Of Gods And Men Is Wound.

I Was All Ear, And Took In Strains That Might Create A Soul Under The Ribs Of Death.

Better To Reign In Hell Than Serve In Heav'n.

Part Of My Soul I Seek Thee, And Claim Thee My Other Half

Our Torments Also May In Length Of Time Become Our Elements.