Silentio,

surgimus.

Silentio,

pugnamus.

Silentio,

lucem non tenebimus.

O Tenebrae,

tu nobis voluntatem firmam das.

Etiamsi vim ad omnia delenda non habeamus,

pro fine nostro agere tantum debemus.

Ah, Tenebrae,

da nobis voluntatem resistendi.

Age, Tenebrae,

solitudinem et lamenta coniunge,

et nos defendemus.

The sound of dread is on its way,

right at our side, it starts to stay.

I can’t explain what it might be,

but I know it’s not the light I need.

So running won’t change anything—

I stand up, breathe, and move again.

It’s coming closer, tick by tick,

it dulls the sense, it turns me sick.

Is it fear, or is it death?

I can’t be sure, I’ve got no breath.

But one thing’s clear inside my mind—

it’s not the light, it’s not the kind.

In this moment, what I feel

is only darkness—cold and real.

No halo waits, no saving sign,

I know it’s not the light this time.

So I rise up, I face the night—

It’s darkness