Nyarlathotep - The Great Old Ones

He is the scourge

He is the wounds

He is the purge

Who brings the final dooms

The plague of mental madness

The peddler of total sadness

In a dark procession

He walks slowly

In a cold depression

Serenely

He is them

They are him

Prodigy of the gods' brain

The grim

Coming from a land of fire

As a messenger of the impious

Of the false beliefs the purifier

And the callous

A sudden attraction

Forces me to follow the crowd

In a morbid fascination

I let myself be wowed

Despite my cartesian mind

The eyes of the black pharaoh

Make my conscience blind

In a cry of absurd woe

«Soon from the sea a noxious birth began;

Forgotten lands with weedy spires of gold;

The ground was cleft, and mad auroras rolled

Down on the quaking citadels of man

Then, crushing what he chanced to mould in play

The idiot Chaos blew Earth’s dust away.»

«Alors écrasant ce qu’il avait eu l’occasion de modeler

Le Chaos idiot balaya la poussière de la terre.»