I am your throne,

Your glorious chariot

Who has come to take you away. 

It is I who will give you your last tender embrace.

And it is I who will return your fragile warmth.

When your life's soft breath slips your soul,

It is I who will feel it escape into the dead oblivion.

Because when you're the enemy of the state,

Who else would receive you

But another gear of the societal machine?