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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!
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3. |
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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.
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4. |
ODEM - Cult of Flesh
05:20
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Flesh is a slaughterhouse where my veins are open wide in the hellfire of exorcism.
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8. |
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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
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10. |
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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
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11. |
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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!
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12. |
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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.
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13. |
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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
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(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.
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16. |
INSULT - Dissenters
02:50
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17. |
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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.
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18. |
DEATHMOOR - I
07:31
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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…
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20. |
VERBUM VERUS - Omens
07:43
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“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!
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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.
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Daemon Worship
Ex utero Mortis partus, ut verbum gloriae Suae propagaret.
Occult Black and Death Metal label & distribution.
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