Verse I Fulgrim of Chemos, born of light, A blade of gold, a mind of height. The Emperor’s vision in human form, A soul refined beyond the norm. He shaped his legion, pride and grace, To carve perfection through endless space. Each word he spoke, a sculptor’s hand, To build a flawless, dying land. ⸻ Chorus Fulgrim, Fulgrim, hear the call, Perfection rises… perfection falls. What once was pure is now unchained, A perfect mind forever stained. In every victory, something breaks— A beauty that the void now takes. ⸻ Verse II The Laer blade whispered through his mind, A truth no mortal should have defined: That flaw is lie, and limit curse, And ecstasy can break the verse. His brother Ferrus stood in steel, But even iron could not heal. One strike, one scream, one fatal art— And Fulgrim tore the world apart. ⸻ Chorus Fulgrim, Fulgrim, lost in flame, No longer bound by mortal name. The Emperor’s son, now torn and changed, By something vast, by something strange. Perfection twisted into pain— And joy and horror feel the same. ⸻ Bridge And in the warp he heard it speak, A voice that praised what others seek: Slaanesh, the lord of endless sense, Of beauty sharp and decadence. And Fulgrim bowed—not as a slave, But as an artist to the grave. ⸻ Final Chorus Fulgrim, Fulgrim, crowned in night, A serpent wrapped in shattered light. No longer man, no longer pure, But something perfect, something sure… A masterpiece beyond the stars— A god of pleasure, pain, and scars.
