Deep in the wilderness, on a forgotten path,
a wanderer is striding forth.
Persistent his walk, and by oath of allegiance,
bound to go up North.
His stern face carved by the years he endured,
by journeys, battles and long winter months.
With the westening sun he proudly marched on,
for an army of strength was mustered once more.
To shorten his way and to hasten for the muster,
he takes a long-lost road.
Now with the sun almost sunken
and the shadows prolonged,
he contemplates his oath.
As at his wonder, a ruin he saw,
like an ancient dwelling,
now only heaps of stones.
Overgrown in nature's shrines,
an echo of what once was
in yesteryears long gone.
Full of wonder,
he became aware of a marble,
black-veined throne,
while his eyes gazed at vague remnants
of engraved heraldic arms.
He marvelled at the bliss
of this forlorn kingdom to him unbeknown,
as a mist came crawling over the
cracked old stone-paved floor.
With a sigh of the wind,
a haze arose over this old hall,
and the more he stared at this upcoming veil,
the more ghostly shapes he saw.
Graciously wandering and dancing around,
drifting on an unseen wind,
with wonder and awe he witnessed this theatre
with an unfolding play.
Now solemn and peaceful,
then with glory and might,
full of splendour and passion.
There were satyrs and troubadours,
jesters and high lords,
peasants and squires evoking his impression.
Then slowly came forth in a shadow of threat,
a tyrant surrounded by his thralls.
Perverted shadows, though fairest in appearance,
full of sickening lies, blending into the play.
Wholly intrigued but unwilling to witness
the end of this mystical play,
his eyes where fixed on the tyrant and his thralls.
How humble they bowed as they kneeled at his feet.
They crowned him and hailed him
as a high Lord of old,
humbling themselves as his servants.
Knowing in his heart all their acting is deceit,
still he could not turn away his eyes.
Full of hate for this tyrant,
but like enchanted by this play.
The thrilling beauty, their cunning and might,
the temptation of their charms.
From this filth infected theatre,
finally he turned his sight away.
Then to his horror he found himself
now sitting chained...
Slowly the black veins of the marble throne
had him partly overgrown.
He felt the cold grip of stone clamping his flesh,
slowly enslaving him whole.
From serenity fallen, the play endured,
he witnessed it with a moan.
All beauty brought down by sickening lies
to foul and horrible shapes.
Värj dig från lögnaren,
svekets ansikte,
människans förgörare.
Tortured by the growing black veins,
crowned with poisonous filth
by rancid whores drenched in lies.
He cried like an insane while foul laughter roared,
Damned all your lies, your whores and your slaves!
Twisted your words, full of deceit
your damned calumny!
The tyrant was smiling, looking down on his prey,
slowly fading with the mist in the rain.
Now darkness surrounded the overgrowing man
and with the rain his life faded away.
Once on a morning on a bright winter day,
the first sunbeams were shining gloomy
on a marble statue in the midst of a ruin
of a man enthroned like a high Lord of old:
grim his face and firmly grasping his throne.
On the first step of the throne
an inscription was engraved:
Enthroned by lies, faded away into oblivion.