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Brand.
Whole and waking.
The Phantom.
Lose the child?
Brand.
Lose it.
The Phantom.
Brand!
Brand.
I must.
The Phantom.
And tear
Me all bleeding from the snare?
With the rods of sacrifice
Scourge me to the death?
Brand.
I must
The Phantom.
Quench the glow of sunny skies,
Turn all bright things into dust,
Never pluck life's fruitage fair,
Never be upborne by song?
Ah, so many memories throng!
Brand.
Nought avails. Lose not thy prayer.
The Phantom.
Heed'st thou not thy martyr's meed?
Baffled where thou sought'st to waken,
Stoned by all, by all forsaken?
