Інформація про пісню На цій сторінці ви можете ознайомитися з текстом пісні A Chronicle of Demoniacal Metamorphosis, виконавця - Abysmal Growls Of Despair.
Дата випуску: 23.02.2017
Вікові обмеження: 18+
Мова пісні: Англійська
A Chronicle of Demoniacal Metamorphosis |
In the beginning there was a plague |
Summoned from the malignant pages |
Of the most execrable of books |
Bound in flesh, written with blood |
Each letter is infused with pestilence |
Every word is a wormhole to a curse |
In the middle there was a conflagration |
The crematory rites for human-kind |
From their ashes, a cimmerian nebulae rose |
And engulfed the goat-forsaken fields |
Of the devil’s dead earth |
A shroud woven by forty-two shadows |
Contrived to snuff the light |
With the charnel stench of their devotion |
I’ve suffocated and died a thousand times |
Trying not to inhale the dust of that dead aurora |
Throughout a somber procession of incarnations |
Crepuscular visions I never considered «lives» |
But intervals of asphyxiation on a six-spoke rotar |
And the severed hearts still slither |
Gangrenous, in the pool of dead blood |
Fools sacrifice in futility |
Then say it’s my athame through their valves |
Time alone heals nothing. The incorporeal scars |
Fester beyond the confines of infinity |
Like the eidolon stars that unravel |
The cosmos, invert existence |
Portals into oblivion |
And therein lies the end, where non-existence |
Reaches its black culmination, the inverse |
Zenith of desolation |
II. Dying Embers of the Final Twilight |
The worms mutated as the dead phosphorescence dimmed |
Morphing into grotesque forms as they ate their way |
Through the forgotten corridors of my mind |
Opening doors for the devil, six inverted eyes |
Windows to Serpens' unholy light, the venom of gods |
A torch to the shroud; all the filaments |
Of my artificial existence turned to cinders |
I gazed upon those forsaken conflagrations |
As the spectral embers of that final twilight faded |
The stygian sea disgorged its serpents |
Cthonian currents rose with the hydra |
Disintegrating the sepulchral towers |
Of the impaled, staining the heavens |
With the lustrous blood of the seraphim |
Enochian screams of mortal anguish cascaded |
Into the long-anhydrous veins of mortuary earth |
Auguring the return of immemorable gods |
The arachnid flora of a primordial evil |
Ascended, a charnel garden, their gargoyle hearts |
Bared to the welkin, secreting the necrotic vapors |
Of damnation, the sulphrous nepenthe |
Of the netherworld, a balm |
To my blackened, bleeding psyche |
I peeled off my skin, the better to breathe it in |
To let the infernal visions flood my perception |
In a temple between worlds, a pair of ravens |
Dine on the charred flesh of angels |
III. The Devil’s Empyrium |
My draconian wings unfolded as I drank |
From a dark prism, the lifeblood |
Of shadows, the last light of fading ghosts |
As their composite annihilation formed my |
Dark haven, an atramental dimension |
Where the obsidian cataracts of mist |
And flame converge and ascend |
To hyper-demonic frequencies |
Octaves beyond the comparatively pale |
Pestilent planes of colored light |
It seems that dreams, like everything |
Were forged in this hell-black miasma |
From the aphotic dust of long-dead stars |
From the cinders of mortal souls that have |
In anguish, faded back into the aethers |
In the beginning there was only blood |
On the parchment, inverted angles |
A demonic stigmata |