Me, a White-Haired Boy

I walked on, treading over corpses. Where did I come from? And where am I going?

I remember having a head of white hair, though I wasn't old.

I remember the lily in my hand, but not who gave it to me.

I remember the sharp sword, but not who plunged it into my chest.

I remember the divine throne, but not how I came to sit upon it.

I remember that I returned. I haven't forgotten that.

By my hand, the end of the gods shall come!