To Whom It Serves the Triumphant Destiny

People gather
To sorrow evermore
The infinite void
They Raise their arms to the distant sky
And apostrophizing the invisible gods
They cry out
Impassive gods
Why have you created us?
To whom it serves the triumphant destiny

We who incessantly generate
Pain, sin, illusion, horrour
In a cruel whirlwind and raving...

Was it not better to have forgiving peace
Where nothing would exist but void
Having peace to sleep forever?
Why to this pain have you summon us?

But the gods, with an utterly trembled voice, sigh
Men! why have you created us?

To whom it serves the triumphant destiny
To whom it serves the triumphant destiny