Inspired by the mythic villain crafted by Fritz Lang, “Dr. Mabuse” explores the timeless theme of the Faustian bargain—sacrificing one’s soul for the illusion of power, desire, or fulfillment. The lyrics follow the manipulative figure of Mabuse, the “man without shadow,” a psychological predator who buys dreams, feeds obsession, and turns temptation into ruin.

Lyrics "Dr. Mabuse"

Why does it hurt when my heart misses the beat?

The man without shadow promises you the world

Tell him your dreams and fanatical needs

He's buying them all with cash

Sell him your soul - sell him your soul - sell him your soul

Never look back - never look back

Sell him your soul - sell him your soul

Never look back

Never look back - never look back

Sell him your soul

He's devoted to the devil fascinated by crime

Glamorous death is his destination - eternal passion his gain

Sell him your soul - sell him your soul - sell him your soul

Never look back - never look back

Sell him your soul - sell him your soul

Never look back

Never look back

Sell him your soul - sell him your soul

Never look back

Why does it hurt? Why-why does it hurt?

He's a satanic gambler, but you just the pool

And you've already lost the chance of your lifetime

So don't be a fool - don't be a fool

Kein Zurueck fuer dich - there's no way back

Sell him your soul

Don't be a fool...

Never look back...

Never look back...

Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?

Intro:

Marching towards Hellas

With trembling hands

And sand in my mouth

I’ve turned my back to Apollo—

My soul longs for answers,

But it’s too foul to face the Sun.

It taints the sun’s rays,

It drains the light,

It burns at the heart of purity.

Verse I

White robes clinging,

washed in the river’s chill,

I taste honey cakes on my tongue—

offerings pressed to trembling lips.

Priests lead me, blindfolded,

between pillars slick with old oil;

the air thick with laurel and earth.

Hands and knees on stone,

I crawl where no sun enters—

the shaft closes above,

silence louder than thought.

The scent of damp bone,

the promise of forgetting—

I surrender my name to the darkness,

and pray the earth remembers my return.

“They say that no one who has descended to Trophonius ever laughs again.”

[Chorus - Invocation]

ὦ Τροφώνιε, ἐπίκουρε χθόνιε, φανήθι!

(O Trophonius, chthonic helper, appear!)

Τροφώνιε, κύριε μαντειῶν, δὸς μοι ὄψιν ἀληθῆ.

(Trophonius, lord of oracles, grant me true vision.)

Φοβερὸς ὑπὸ γαῖαν, ἀνέλθε, προφῆτα νυκτερινέ.

(Dread one beneath the earth, arise, nocturnal prophet.)

Verse 3: 

Oracular Encounter

Darkness presses on my chest;

the air tastes of iron and old honey.

The waters below murmur,

cool mist seeping through stone.

Limbs numb, I cannot speak—

the voice arrives without sound:

A cold current runs through my marrow,

and visions coil behind my eyes.

Phantoms drift—some known, some faceless—

one lays a finger across my lips,

sealing memory with dread.

No words—

only the weight of command,

and the certainty

I will never be unchanged.

“None who descend to Trophonius return unchanged; laughter leaves them at the gate.”

[Chorus - Invocation]

ὦ Τροφώνιε, ἐπίκουρε χθόνιε, φανήθι!

(O Trophonius, chthonic helper, appear!)

Τροφώνιε, κύριε μαντειῶν, δὸς μοι ὄψιν ἀληθῆ.

(Trophonius, lord of oracles, grant me true vision.)

Φοβερὸς ὑπὸ γαῖαν, ἀνέλθε, προφῆτα νυκτερινέ.

(Dread one beneath the earth, arise, nocturnal prophet.)

[Outro]

I came back from Hellas

With trembling hands

And sand still in my mouth.

I swore an oath to silence—

And carried the oracle within.

"Ō Trophōnie, epíkoure chthónie, phanḗthi!

Trophōnie, kýrie manteíōn, dos moi ópsin alēthê.

Phoberòs hypò gaîan, anélthe, prophêta nykteriné"

[Verse 1]

Gregor awakes, the circle turns,

In the furnace of life, the old self burns.

A form grotesque, a mirror’s shame,

Yet beneath the shell, the Great Work remains.

The serpent coils in symbols concealed,

A sacred truth now painfully revealed.

Between the pillars of mercy and might,

He crawls through shadows in search of light.

[Chorus]

Oh Gregor, the hermetic flame,

Through flesh degraded, the spirit proclaims.

As above, so below, the law resounds,

A sacred rebirth where the profane is found.

[Verse 2]

Transmutation begins in his fall,

The insect thrives where the man is small.

No accident, this alchemical plight,

The soul ascends through matter’s blight.

Eliphas spoke of the mystic key,

A cipher found in calamity.

The marriage of opposites, life and decay,

Gregor’s burden, the price to pay.

[Bridge] (featuring Eliphas Levi’s incantation)

" La grande œuvre, c’est avant tout la création de l’homme par lui-même, c’est-à-dire la pleine et entière conquête de ses facultés et de son avenir ; c’est surtout la parfaite émancipation de sa volonté"

In the Tarot’s arc, the Hanged Man swings,

Suspended truth, the paradox sings.

Through his suffering, the veil is thin,

The divine within begins to spin.

[Chorus]

Oh Gregor, the hermetic flame,

Through flesh degraded, the spirit proclaims.

As above, so below, the law resounds,

A sacred rebirth where the profane is found.

[Outro]

Gregor, a vessel of Levi's lore,

A creature bound to the Great Work’s core.

His fall, his rise—a riddle complete,

In dust and despair, the divine competes.

This track is based on an ancient Sumerian balbalê—which simply means song. It’s a dialogue between the shepherd god Dumuzid (later called Tammuz) and the goddess Inana (Ishtar). The original text was carved into clay tablets over 4,000 years ago.

Note: We kept the original Sumerian spelling Inana (𒈹), rather than the later Akkadian Inanna. 

Sumerian love songs were unapologetically erotic, full of layered meanings that would’ve been instantly understood back then. Today, most people would miss it completely unless it’s pointed out.

For example: When Dumuzid says “my honey who flowed from her mother”, he’s not talking about a biological parent. “Mother” here is a metaphor—he means her sex. The perfume, the nectar, the divine source.

Same with “the beer of your barley is good.” It’s not about drinking. It’s not about barley. It’s about the taste of her.

Special thanks to Peter Pringle, whose work allowed this ancient song to be reborn.