The Anthem is Mystic

Such prestige. Such affliction. Perishing to live. And a phantom—
The depth of her dreams. Thus she dwells in atonement—the
Glory of Spirit. Her faith, as steep as the atmosphere, longing
For the wounds of Christ. And her spirit, it soars through mystic
Hells, afloat the Last Supper. Whereby she partakes of sacred
Blood, trembling unto the scar of her soul. Suddenly she returns.
Her spirit, a flaming torch—her eyes swollen with friction. Thus
She prays unto ecstatic rapture, tortured in the furnace of affliction.
Wherefore she disappears, unaware of carnality, adrift the seven
Seals. Her journey, her confliction; for closeness equates to
Anguish; and flight terrifies the soul. And suddenly she returns.
Wherefore she crawls and grovels, pleading forgiveness. But her
Heart, fraught with joy, if only to touch the flame of the Lamb. 
And her flesh, afflicted with cuts, the mystery of the dead.