Fire burning unfolding a revelation. As my body melts away in a sacred pyre. Entering soul in the realms of forgotness. Heritage from earth's pain. Infinite blackness in the kingdom of death.
Monotant landskap strekker seg endelst og skjuler mange tapte liv. En hel tidsalder av onde minner glemmes ei, glemmes ei Er det sorg I luften?. Er angsten sodd I frossen grunn?....
The sickness of this world is destroying all the dreams. The fools are kings, tearing apart the soul. The race for complication, communicate reaction.
You have told a thousand lies. Told then a thousand times. Your words just create lies. No one will symphathize. . Recognize that trust in you has died.
Again I see the shadows crawling in my mind. I try to run but I can't hide. This endless war inside me has torn my heart apart. My mind's vengeance will be so sweet.
It's not a disease. A weapon of war. It's not a disease. Let's even the score. . This game's a race. . A race to the death. This game's a race. There'll be nothing left.
Necromancer, the rites of dementia. See what the death looks like. Souls with the limbo, coming withe eternal flames. Arrive in circles of trembling hands.
Raising my head to yell my life out. Standing naked, strained as a dying worm. With body of light gleaming with my disquiet. With myriads of stars not-to-be-seen.
Our father thy will be done.. . I have denied this life its worth. I will not be the victim.. Sickness to you my master. Here's to getting worse. Hope it kills you faster..
The path I set out on took a turn. When the axis shifted. This is not the life I envisioned. What's done is done. The crime is committed. Now the beast has come home to roost.
Our father thy will be done.. . I have denied this life its worth. I will not be the victim.. Sickness to you my master. Here's to getting worse. Hope it kills you faster..
A systematically applied veil to heedless eyes. Focus deflected, ignore. This is not our war. Bury the abject shame in the same bile as our ideals. The potent lubricant to deceits grinding wheels.
Circa mea pectora multa sunt suspiria. De tua pulchritudine, que me ledunt misere.. . Venus! - I trow'd thou wast my friend -. Professed to Heaven thou wouldst send;.