[based on the poem "Tragediens Trone" by John Henrik Svaren] [is translated by the undersigned, and hereby dedicated to Kristoffer Garm Rygg]

Hear!
From this day forth
Are the heights of Horeb broken
And the sea of sulphur-ice.

And blasphemy!
In heaven's chambers:
Souls had fled their halls
And closed was the book of life.
And behold!
The great, white throne:
Black
With sacred blood

Our father –
Dead by his own hands:
An epitaph
Worthy no king.

And so is everything
A nameless lie.
Who, my god,
Am I?

Man knows me
As Lucifer, the serpent of old.
The wretched hold my banner high.
Your gift
– all life! –
I grant a grave
Yet I am not your death.

Come carry forth the crown
To your once held throne.
Here is where my suffering should cease
– but alas; I am crowned
In grief unheard of!

In this lone monarchy
– without a friend of foe –
I greet the mourning sun
With strife and a song:
Please speak my name!
And leave me not
In the dust of death.

I am weighed down
Beneath the tragedy crown, –
Nameless,
And alone,
A fatherless son.

[JHS 1996]