şükela:  tümü | bugün
  • (bkz: ancient rites)
    (bkz: exile)
  • charles baudelaire'in en onemli eseri olan les fleurs du mal'in, 5. bölümünde bulunan şiir.
    gorgoroth şiiri litani til satan olarak norveçceye çevirip, incipit satan albümüne koymuştur.
    gaahl şakıyı tanrı gibi seslendirmiştir.
  • rotting christ bu şiiri orijinal metniyle besteleyip rituals albümüne 4 numaralı parça olarak eklemiştir. şarkıyı vorph * olarak bilinen samael'in vokalisti michael locher seslendirmiştir.

    orijinal sözleri:
    ô satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !

    ô toi, le plus savant et le plus beau des anges,
    dieu trahi par le sort et privé de louanges,
    ô prince de l'exil, à qui l'on a fait tort
    et qui, vaincu, toujours te redresses plus fort.

    toi qui sais tout, grand roi des choses souterraines,
    guérisseur familier des angoisses humaines,
    toi qui, même aux lépreux, aux parias maudits,
    enseignes par l'amour le goût du paradis,
    ô toi qui de la mort, ta vieille et forte amante,
    engendras l'espérance, — une folle charmante!
    toi qui fais au proscrit ce regard calme et haut
    qui damne tout un peuple autour d'un échafaud.
    toi qui sais en quels coins des terres envieuses
    le dieu jaloux cacha les pierres précieuses.

    ô satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère ! (x3)

    toi dont l'oeil clair connaît les profonds arsenaux
    où dort enseveli le peuple des métaux,
    toi dont la large main cache les précipices
    au somnambule errant au bord des édifices.

    ô satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère ! (x12)

    ingilizce çevirisi:
    o satan, take pity on my long misery!

    o you, the wisest and fairest of the angels,
    god betrayed by destiny and deprived of praise,
    o prince of exile, you who have been wronged
    and who vanquished always rise up again more strong.

    you who know all, great king of hidden things,
    the familiar healer of human sufferings,
    you who teach through love the taste for heaven
    to the cursed pariah, even to the leper,
    you who of death, your mistress old and strong,
    have begotten hope, — a charming madcap!
    you who give the outlaw that calm and haughty look
    that damns the whole multitude around his scaffold.
    you who know in what nooks of the miserly earth
    a jealous god has hidden precious stones.

    o satan, take pity on my long misery! (x3)

    you whose clear eye sees the deep arsenals
    where the tribe of metals sleeps in its tomb,
    you whose broad hand conceals the precipice
    from the sleep-walker wandering on the building's ledge.

    o satan, take pity on my long misery! (x12)