The dead speaks to me
From beyond the grave
That is why my conscience is
Ive buried the dead alive
The blood of
the child is pure now
In death it gives me life
The circle is complete
Begin another...
Dark cold icy death
As the
scorpion stings the minds obsessed
A venomous kiss of profane grace
As shades of hatred reigns
Silent screams of suffering
I
stand in flames of torturing
Goddess of flesh hunger and desire
Grant me wings of hellish fire
Know that all my creations
spring
From blood on the cross in blasphemy
I am death the creator of sin
And of the pure I am the wind
The dance of
creeping shadows
Enchanting all insania
Ive become evil in soul and mind
In a demonoid fantasia
A venomous kiss of profane
grace
In a world so fundamentally weak
I see no beginning only the end
