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What dark spirits awaken in the bowels of the Earth?
What foul incantations hark they in their mirth?
Tell me what destruction means to chaos clad in flesh.
Show me what they have have seen in dimensions over death!
Break the seal that holds me to mortal existence.
Cast the charm and trade my soul for just one fightin' chance!
Take me on a journey to the supernatural plane.
Tonight I've got a rendezvous with the Gods of fear and pain!
Frenzy!
Chaoscrambled sense . . . whirliwinds of morbid screams!
Entourage of demons dances 'round the fire of rotten dreams!
Enter to the nightmares of mortals young and old.
Tempt them not to fight their lust for blood and gold!
Feed the flames of gluttony, and jealousy, and rage.
Distract them, so they won't see the confines of their cage!
Whisper lies down their necks, blasphemer in the throng.
Show them that their Holy Text is gloriously wrong!
Sacred are the demons with which I now conspire.
We capture human feelings and throw them in the fire!
Frenzy!
Chaoscrambled sense . . . whirliwinds of morbid screams!
Entourage of demons dances 'round the fire of rotten dreams!
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2. |
Accursed Saboteur
05:50
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Breath of a madman like a fatal poison, floating on the wind . . .
Discontent with its possession, it will feed on life, exacting death . . . will devour the soul 'til there's nothing left . . . a deathclasp on the breath!
Captivating in its horror; daunting in its presence; choking in its foulness; malicious in its deliverance . . .
My own mind's become my one greatest enemy, accursed saboteur!
Death of a madman, like fatal release, in a moment of inspiration
I'll take a great leap; will cut my bonds so I can drown free . . . to complacent faith sever dependency: destroy foul destiny!
Pious and complacent citizens, perceiving no direction: come stand astride the pool and gaze upon your own reflections . . .
My own mind's become my one greatest enemy, accursed saboteur!
Captivating in its horror; daunting in its presence; choking in its foulness; malicious in its deliverance . . .
My own mind's become my one greatest enemy, accursed saboteur!
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3. |
The Principal Extinction
09:23
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The flower of today is a wretched bitch,
but its roots grow long and deep and rich.
At their ends lie those that once bloomed,
which sunk below the land they doomed.
There the earth is hard and it's cold,
long buried beneath the mountainfold;
the bitter paradox lies whereinwhich: the virgin soil serves the wretched bitch!
Organism:
'If We could abandon this misbegotten sphere,
the strength of our race would master the coldest frontier.
Time is against us, but our plans must come to pass;
let not the human seed expire, oh gods, grant us a chance!
We can't be held responsible for what We haven't done . . .
We inherited the world this way!'
Sophicosm:
'In the eyes of the cosmos, You and They are one . . .
guilty aye, but heirs? Nay!'
Now the flower won't forever last,
and those eyes can foresee it passed . . .
but ere it withers whence it came,
there beauty's lot shall be the same.
Its own devices will poison its gaze
when it looks upon its wretched ways;
pity and remorse are its fading light,
and black irony, its final sight:
'Fools of our own kind reaffirm Man's disease,
and petty divisions have brought us to our knees.
Weak and pleading, dominion's come to its end,
while the universe's wheels grind on in indifference.
Curse the stars and strides above, who see Us so forsaken!
Strength and wisdom come to naught!!'
. . . . .
'Too late You know the consequence of the liberties You've taken,
and the void of the eternity You've sought!'
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4. |
The Malignant Paradigm
06:28
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My bedevilled chants are the nucleus;
malignant amoebic deathsickness,
the inhumane antichrist chemistry;
terrorism uprooted from within.
No patience for fragile human psyche,
weak bloodfed distracted reality . . .
the malignant paradigm!
When the soul has burst like a utopian bubble
and ferments in dead flesh like a naked specimen,
only then will my efforts be justified!
Empirical data validate my abyssic hypotheses . . .
No patience for fragile human psyche,
weak bloodfed distracted reality . . .
the malignant paradigm!
Victim of Earth-veiled scientific sorcery,
this callous address is directed at you.
I'm a cold-hearted operator with no regard
for the ethical implications of my research.
An amorphous and enigmatic nightmare for you,
my reality is something beyond your cognition,
hence the commonground analogy
of the parasitic viral attack.
Feeble creature, you're fucked all the same...
but the irony of illumination entertains me!
You'll submit everything to me, real and imagined,
upon entry to the 'kingdom' of the dead (hah! hah!)
This entire existence and the struggles you have faced
have been a finite trial in a vast experimental design
of a metaphysical black divinity . . .
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5. |
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From the shoulders of giants, I stoke the fire,
the occultic symbol of my spiritual desire
to stand in defiance, and shatter the moulds
that would quell my convictions for the truths I uphold . . .
I am the Satan of Self; I am the Warrior:
beneath my mask is something stronger . . .
I am the Seer of Truths; I am the Conjurer:
for the triumph of my will I hunger . . .
On the empty roads ahead, I tread with confidence:
the gall of a rebel yell, and an untamed impudence,
the metaphorical weapon of my rogueish stance
that I proudly brandish, to herald my impending advance . . .
I am the Satan of Self; I am the Warrior:
beneath my mask is something stronger . . .
I am the Seer of Truths; I am the Conjurer:
for the triumph of my will I hunger . . .
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6. |
A Thousand Dooms
09:56
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Identity's ensnared in the locus of bone,
a grey voided consciousness, severed from perception.
Distorted in pungent and mouldering earth,
disastrous hallucinations of memory and mind
obscure the self in sedimentary webs for eternity!
Dark clouds roll concentric to my brow,
churned by searing hot winds above.
The skin of the land, taught against my skull,
lays with me burning beneath the Star.
My thoughts fall trudging out the channel below;
viscous river carving desolate groves.
Disaster! The wind scars my body . . .
the carapace rears up in flight.
The reflection shatters over spread wings
to a thousand dooms in my sight . . .
Desires are suppressed by the river's pull.
My reflections are the only floods there are.
Inspiration floats away in a gleaming carapace:
a solemn Coleopter of fiercest presence,
whose wings reflect the grimace of my tortured face,
drawing in its dome the river's essence.
Disaster! The wind sears my body . . .
the carapace rears up in flight.
The reflection shatters over spread wings
to a thousand dooms in my sight . . .
With everdwindling stages of orbital speed
I'm spiralling up to the fireball . . .
cycles are breaking violently within me,
the planes' collapse is exponential!
There is no mind, only a shadow of memory.
There is no soul, only an echo of pain . . .
The frightful truth of consciousness,
is screaming in disordered brains.
The error of sapient creation, a being unrenewed.
The soil is fed with legions of corpses,
but the mind only falls to decay.
An abysmal wrong born of celestial war,
only a whisper in the darkest myths of man . . .
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