Upon a mantle of cold stone I awaken,
to the black song and the death of a winter sun
befallen.

My soul hath quest into a maelstrom of darkness
which has germinated in my shadow brooding silently
like a molten pool of livid decay.
An angelic voice that came to my youth birthed
itself from the labyrinth of a cruel forest, sent forth a
whisper of seething winds onto my naked body resounding
like the descent of a hollow choir.
Slowly my bewildered spirit succumbed to the dreamy
chorus bellowing from the mouth of a veiled nemesis
until become dry the last estuary of my purity.

Upon the stone I hear the song,
the song of Gehenna carries afar spindrifts of fatal charms
spawned from the dark mist that looms forever over
demon fields, entering the corridors of my mind like
deadly spirals of corrosion.
My name wails in a coronach as I drift in
a river of blood heaving from the corpses of my ancestors.
Eternal rhythms of sacrifice echo silently in my veins like
a hidden beacon shimmering on a distant isle.

A lattice of liquid thorns lingers in the pitch
like a miasma that will fall into my breath and drown my last will.
I lust uncontrollably in the broken memories of a gothic dawn,
still moist are my torn robes saturate in foul resin
of angry serpents slithering beneath my skin
and through the rotted canals of my soul.

As I yearn to drink the essence of mercury,
the blood of a dying seraph drips still from my sword onto
the northern point of my pentagram.
Is this but my lucid thoughts quivering in a catalyst of dreams
waning in memories of lust that sculptured my path into
the iniquity of her beauty.

And so here I must lay,
to embrace the cold stone of my black tomb
forever.

 
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