When the perfect ice crystal, Resolves, to rush into "That" conflagration, The Stigmata (Holy Wound), then, becomes the complete Myth.

The cracks upon the armor, Are tempered into medals. The myriad fragments of the past, Are accepted and forged into the 【Star-Crown】.

That soul, born of complexity, At last sings His hymn. He, at the abyss's end, becomes His own Light. And so, that "already perfected Monarch", From the throne, Raises forth infinite compassion and blessing.

Listen, the Flower, is chanting. Behold, the Light, has vanquished the past. May this flower accompany you, At the right moment, in the right place. We, here, offer with heartfelt gladness.