How quiet your gates, O city of confusion;
your guards have gone within, to quell the cry.
Now prisoners look on, to wonder why,
and if their new-found freedom, is illusion.
Pass by the gates, pass by, and don't turn back;
creep in the dark while anger looks away.
Be gone and long forgotten by the day;
what waits for those inside is deepest black.
Many her plagues and fierce, that follow after;
her fate was set by long-forgot decree.
Of those who choose to stay, no memory
should spoil the fleeing fugitive's glad laughter.
Today, the king is dead; but others come;
th'eternal queen of hell is weak, but stands.
Her worship passes far through other lands,
and only for a season is she dumb.
Meanwhile, whoever wants, can now go free,
and ne'er again be forced to bow their knee.