Worship XII​.​XIII


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"Darkness is a path, a secret swirling river, where the lidded Eye opens to ancient dreams. And dusk is a door, a coffin of stone, which I have dressed my soul in moldered flesh to enter. Clothed in decay, the world falls into the gloom of barren earth and my Shadow drowns the temples behind me. "Yet I am not fallen, but hidden. I am Flame amid waters of disturbance and desolation. Transgressing, not sinking. Marching across Night, through the depths of doom and decadence, I am Star masked with skin and scalps of gods. A riddled truth sweeping between the shores of ghosts’ hollow cries. Unsealing lock upon lock within the old Serpent’s chambers with thunderbolt words, I am Turning and Becoming in Dying, an endless Dawn unseen by Day. " I face the West and in adoration I hail the setting Sun That Falls upon the ramparts of the Watchtower of Death and Dreams To enter verily into the Death’s mansion and in mighty hermitage illumine The autumnal thorn-path towards Midnight The labyrinth of crimson dusk To pass through the entrance of the underworld And be changed by ordeal Praise thee, O dying Sun! Praise thee, O Fallen One! Hoary as the earthen grave to which ye have come Smoldering in the gloaming As a titanic pyre As Noctifer now ye becometh! To ignite the Dark with Star-Fire! Wise in your ancient aspect As thy elder epithet By relinquishing unto death Another ingress beget Imperator at the Watchtower Of Death and of Dreams By the Western road towards Great Midnight The Fallen Star gleams! Burnishing the skies with crimson and gold Turning lead black as thy burning wings doth enfold Enter the Earth, enter the Grave And harken now forth towards ancestors mighty and brave Infernal Lampadiphor, Psyhopomp self-slain With hell-mouth billows Kindle the forge-fires of Cain And speak now his name! And speak now his name! Noctifer rise! From the felled corpse self-slain! In congress at crossed roads A new form obtained In casket and tomb The sepulchral King now ordained Go forth now as Death’s wayfarer Upon the crooked road of bane Tread the thorn-path towards Great Midnight To enter Death's fane!
Reveal those cut veins - the mark of an open Eye. Angelic Stigmata, malicious reek of Swine. The Devil; he hands me a blade to unearth flesh. A portal of faith lit our path - euphoric end. Pilgrims bleeding. Devil worship. The ruler of earth & All beckons for servitude. A sordid poison breeds the flame beneath the shroud. If the pulse of the Beast defies the confines of the cosmic walls, Does that not then make us the conduits of Pralaya? Reverence for dogma at a point of mortal end. Garnered by scripture, pillars of mass command. In the wake of all healing the Swine doth feel contempt? The chasm ignites to the rapturous Bhakti-chant. The Pulse opens the gates. Towards infinite skies. Dur-athma & Pralaya. Chaos-Chakra rise. Hear the Serpent's chant? The Darkness is but one. Flame of vortex black. Crimson Eye of SATAN. Akshara-pathra heart. Dur-athma poison wind! Absolute deliverance. Embrace the Fire within. Falacious womb of Eve Deep scars of rust and scorn. Blood of the cremation grounds. Soil of the Fire-born. Parched and distraught, (yet) consecrated by His words. Dance of the mordant, towards the starless realm. Break the chains of hope, cut the throbbing vein. Fill this chalice with death, demise is salvation. Para Bhakti...Salvation.
Flesh is a slaughterhouse where my veins are open wide in the hellfire of exorcism.
Behold the malevolent dawning The rising stench of misfortune Ascending through ruined light In which all hearts are sunken Flourishing perdition A splendorous wreck of virtue Parasitic gods in prostration Conjurers of the repugnant séance Rotten are now the horizons Of such delightful dreams Shrouded in horrid mists Banished from assured salvation Subdued by the incessant power Confined to the serpent womb Ornaments of a forseen triumph
Through the dusk of a mirror The reflection of a dragon is shown Victorious satanic visions Of a time to come Here in my temple of worship Walls collapse and rise Flowers wither by the stench As brimstone is cried by many A taste of salt, still I can move So drunk of the bitter wine I lie rotting altogether with a withered rose Waiting in this madness of visions “There is nothing to be proud of These creatures are inverted Reprehensible in the eyes of the order High men in dreams, harlots in reality” Now that the swords are grinded And the dusk has become clear The mirror is burst And the fragments ‘re cutting my flesh A high commander of suicide kings Brought us to the sun and back Merciless and compelled by hate Driven by devotion Scars of a victory, scars of fragments Which once showed us this glorious victory Not mine, not ours We won Hail Satan Hail Satan Hail Satan
LEPACA KLIFFOTH.The Dragon Order dominates the world by controlling the Qliphotic Powers from the Tree of Death and channeling the Ο D force from the Towers of Shaitan. The blessed of the Red Dragon reign the earth and the worlds beyond through the subtle Siddhis of the Dragon Universe. LEPACA KLIFFOTH. Open up the shells, the eleven Qliphoth burst to unbound the Dragon. The eleven Qliphoth burst to release the self. The Draconic consciousness interwoven with the nadis of the Kundalini Universe. The Egregore pouring to annihilate reality and bring forth the Apocalypse. Open up the Shells, the eleven Qliphoth burst to unbound the Dragon. Eleven Qliphoth burst to release the self. We are the Dragon's Blood and we reign the earth and the worlds beyond through the subtle siddhis of the Dragon Universe. We are the Dragon's breath and we dominate the world, by controlling the Qliphotic Powers from the Tree of Death and channeling the O D force from the Towers of Shaitan. We are the Dragon's Blood and we are the Dragon's breath. CΗΙVA awakes. Red Dragon of the Apocalypse rise from the Black Sea! HO DRAKON HO MEGAS!
Screaming thoughts of a November night, Beckon with the dope of the modern times Rage in the minds with a wild theory, Putting to practice a bloody ZAKON. Crushing destinies with a steel knob A joyful ISTINA of a moral lie. With ripened sprouts Riotous heads Rust in the wall instead of grates. There is no repentance in the freezing town, There is and will be no modern times. PRAVDA is reeling like even rails, You’re leaving the merry backwater. Discouraged, with nerves all bared. Can you smell that it’s your time to die? In low doses Wrathful bastards Will outerly wreck the perfect PORYADOK. The black again, paralyzed in November, The same old faces – savage dogs. Wisdom dethroned by force as before, STRAH turns the fog into harsh smoke. The precise reality – a bottomless pit, Raving, you gnaw deep into its naught… Heavily groaning Wild sinners Humbly bear the YAROST’ of instincts.
A dense dark cloud of Evil a sense of an opaque lurking an eye within an eye the arrow, the archer, the enemy through me it stares at you through me it breathes black poison, moving closer to be constantly there, component Perpetual substance, soul former, allegiance Against the stream like a doomed animal One sole goal, one sole greatness The grand opponent of mankind The deceiver of Eve Breaking through the soul of man, becoming it From within its inner void, far from salvation There is no god above There is no divinity under All is subordinate And a weapon to His will Lyrics: Arvath, II/VI 2008
(lyrics penned by MkM of ANTAEUS & AOSOTH) And for now, I should heal my wounded hands. I will watch you down there... Time standing still. Staring at your everlasting end. Putting a closure to your dreams – will make me feel alive again. Putting a stop to your breaths – will make me smile again. So what will it be? Will you be praying for mercy? Would any god be begged? Lies of repent turning red. Will stand aside. Make sure to dive into your eyes. Your very last abuser, one of the many blamed – The reason why you would end it that way... So what will it be? Will you be praying for mercy? Would any god be begged? Lies of repent turning red. After all, you were just asking for it. I belong to those who see. Thank me for being there and having done all this to you.
Sex augu, tólf stjörnur, með himinþokur milli fingra sér. Sveipaður myrkri og harmi, drukknandi augu synda yfir það sem fyrir ber. Leifar fjarlægra drauma finnast undir isilögðum sjáöldrum, berjast þær sýnir um að komast upp a yfirborðið. Vaki þú hyldýpi óskylt takmörkunum holdsins, Leyf okkur að hvíla í faðmi þinum. Að þekkja ásjónu vítislogana, allar þessar óteljandi tennur. Þínar sálhreinsandi hvítu klær, klórandi, fálmandi. Eftir hlutdeild í tilveru utan líkama. Sú óendandi þjáning, hve við þráum að þekkja form hennar, að samtvinnast greipum logans. Yfirstíga eðju holdsins, að svífa. Fuðra upp. Enda. Eilíft líf, bjögun hins illlýsanlega sjálfs, orðin eru bitur lofsöngur, og munnur okkar fullur af glerbrotum. án andgiftar, gleyptar hafa verið ófáar tennurnar. Ódauðleg prísund umlykjandi, aðgangur að djúpunum; hylling. Vonarglætan kæfð. Brenni þeir útlimir ófærir um að slá frá sér. Rotni það hold af beinum sem getur ei brunnið. Megi þessir tónar sveipa af hulunni, þetta verk hreinsa burt sköpunarverkið. Megi uppljómum tendrast í hugum allra. Megi allt sem er, vera ei meir. Hent inn í óseðjandi hreinsunareldinn, ráðgáturnar leystar og dauðinn eina frelsunarorðið. Frelsuð frá tilveru. Andinn dreginn á brott. Við sjáum pyttinn. Ginnungargap ofar öllum skilningarvitum, líkama kaffærða í óyfirstíganlegum refsingum. Endi allra ferðalaga. Við heyrum sársaukaópin. Þær fjarlægu raddir sem klifra upp hallarsalina. Við lifum í draumaheim, sársaukinn vekur ei. Fingur titra, augun grípa í tómt. Litir renna saman í eitt, móðan smýgur sér í öll vit. Við erum bundinn í dróma, klædd sólinni. Himneskum eldi. Engin leið út.
Нет ничего – ни белого, ни черного, Нет и пути – ни вперед, ни назад. Лишь крикливой птичьей покорностью: Я – воспоминание, Я – Листопад… Я – опавшие черные перья На изгнившее жнивье… Я – болезненные видения, Я – голодное воронье… Я – безжизненные желтые мороки, Я – безбрежное море тоски… Я – усталость, Я – шорохи, Осыпавшиеся лепестки… Я – бесплотные, липкие тени, Я – сожженные руки дерев Я – бесконечные, оборванные мгновения, Ветром разбросанные по земле… Я – истлевшие желтые души Я – испепеляющий багряный восход Я – тот, кто жизни иссушит, Задушит смрадом болот… И не останется – ни белого, ни черного… Я никогда не вернусь назад… Я вырвусь из этой проклятой покорности… Я – воспоминание, Я – Листопад…
“What terror is this that now walks upon the face of the earth?” It is he who wears a diadem of seven sabled horns and is swathed in vestments of famine and war. It is he, whose prayer is at the baying of dogs and the wailing of whores, whose hymns are as the lamentations of lepers and the pox-plagued outcast. It is he, whose name is as the nine-tailed scourge across the spine of the world. Lord of emaciation and fever. Angel of anxieties. Archon of onslaught. We harken unto thee and walk within thy shadow. Lead us now into desolation. Lead us now unto ruin. Lead us now into the glorious radiance of perdition's light!
I have been given the flesh of the sun to eat, and the milk of the moon to drink. I have passed through the long night and been reborn through the realms of dissolution. As a lone wanderer have I been lost in the unfathomable desert, the wastes of desolation, and I have won my way. It is the time of the great reaping. The great infernal star shines from its peak upon MY earth, as I claim my destined reward. For now I am the lover of Ahator. Mistress of inebrity without end. For now I am the ascending child, draped in a cloak of fire! My ascent becomes me, its holy flames tear away my I. In this death, this moment of moments. In naked splendour as time stands still. The past seems the life of another. The journey of a fool clad in many colours. Yet upon this parzival, and those before him have I kindled my fresh leaping fire. By those I were have I built my temple. As I aspire with pure intent towards and beyond my starry throne, the temple of now must become a stone in the foundations of something infinitely greater. The moment of truth. The shattering of masks and mirrors. The rendering of the last veil. Reality trembles as the child god is drunk upon inmost fire.


To celebrate the last day of the calendar 2013 year and to relive what DWP went through over the last few annual cycles we decided to offer a free Daemon Worship sampler online for you to share the experience with us. Gathering songs from twenty and one band, that we worked with and will work with in the future. Various flyers and artworks are included in the archive. Download, listen & share. This is a chronicle of two years of Darkness, Damnation & Death!

Cover artwork channeled through Brianvdp (www.facebook.com/brianvdpdesign).


released December 31, 2013


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Daemon Worship

Ex utero Mortis partus, ut verbum gloriae Suae propagaret.

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