Nosce Teipsum - Justice Lyrics

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things
There is no armour against Fate
Death lays his icy hands on kings
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down
And in the dust be equal made
With crooked scythe and spade

A hateful cure with hate to heal
A bloody help with blood to save
A foolish thing with fools to deal
Justice metes a premature grave

Some men with swords may reap the field
And plant fresh laurels where they kill
But their nerves at last must yield
They tame but one another still
Early or late
They stoop to fate
And must relinquish the murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to Death

A hateful cure with hate to heal
A bloody help with blood to save
A foolish thing with fools to deal
Justice metes a premature grave

Let others deck their pride with scars
And of their wounds make brave, lame shows
First let them die, then pass the stars
When rotten Fame will tell their blows

The garlands wither on your brow
Then boast no more your mighty deeds
Upon death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb
Only the actions of the just
Shall grow and prosper in their dust