What shambling vagabond dissenter,
Crying out. All hear this sad lamenter.
Fearful purpose, Maddened eyes.
Shouts aloud 'god has met his demise!'
'For Deus est mortus,
And we have killed him all of us'.

'We black carrion foul.
Knife men. killers benieth hooded cowl'
Where with all can we ever be redeemed?
What rites, what grand ceremony can be conceived?
'For Deus est mortus
'And we have killed him every one of us'

What games shall we now invent?
To shade from this dreadful portent.
Preserve us from the twilight of idols
What tasks? What new toils?
'For Deus est mortus
And we have killed him all of us'.

What account now is the serpent?
Where with all are his servants?
Wanting wilderness, barren desert.
New sunrises to bitterly covert.
'For Deus est mortus
And we have killed him each and all of us'

Who now can lead, who now can follow?
Does not all reason lie dead and hollow?
Rules, values 'Thalt shalt' all to discern
Stone tablets to heap in high cairn.
'For Deus est mortus
And we have killed him every one of us.'

To seem even worthy of such great feat
Higher hight still we must meet.
A tight rope walker cannot retreat,
Else fall to desperate defeat.
'For whom now shall we pray,
Dies irae.'