The Chasm
Procession to the Infraworld
1. Spectral Sons Of The Mictlan
[Instrumental]
2. The Scars Of My Journey
When life has ceased,when the termination of the traditional spirit and catastrophic barbaric desolations surrounds the core of my linear cold menace,feeling the power and reflection of the inner winterwich is always present in this cosmic landscapes of sorrow.
Are the winds and whispers ashes of an ancient memory which tries to release the thousand pictures of agony?(that lies dortman in the rustand and frost of my cosmos within...) Shattered and deceased all the once bright possessions, that lead this strangeland are now just a feeble flame in my soul...
3. At The Edge Of The Nebula Mortis
The long cold voyage is reaching the end,
and destiny that can be forged as well as faded into the pestilential mists of spiritual profanity.
My eyes are eternally searching the winds, the apocalyptic winds that ride over the majestic ruins, finding the past, unseen and enormous, a time of repent and glorification,
learning from the ancient black dawn of the thousand beasts, all breathing fire and blood, all breeding the most supreme race of volcanics entities, in my veins, in their veins the magma of wisdom floats as the hate and revenge pumps in our cold and relative hearts.
But the journey is still far from ending, still painful odysseys are coming...
(The most valuable yet the most agonizing is the one to reach the root of my damnation...)
4. Fading...
Vast and decayed, mourners of faded aspirations upon the colossal halls of rotten tragic shadows, their inner essence and wisdom like a tornado over my torn spectrum will always be the bleeding eye.
Dreadful visions of an impending fear, and unbroken cycle, purified with the stench of sadness, which leads me to a crimson immolation, pain immense and ritualistic.
Lost years, faded illusions, bleeding dreams, all in one, at war with myself at the empire of Msach-Eht
5. Return Of The Banished
Afraid of the sinful twilight, the bastard sons of mediocrity are behead one by one.
By our mace of dark steel and black ice, melted within the blood of past tragedies,the ultimate massacre of the false ones(they) are behead one by one...with no mercy, marching for revenge, we the proudest, rise high the flames of victory, always guided by the eyes of the serpent with feathers,always procreating our liberation and destiny.
My castle made of skulls and bones, and painted with the the endless of the defeated, afraid of the crimson twilight the bastard sons of mediocrity
are behead one by one,(then we) rape the one who flies in the skies(the cursed paradise) and destroy those who dwell in the underground fire, our cult is turning smaller but growing stronger, we are the overlords.
6. Cosmic Landscapes Of Sorrow
The dominant symbol of the supremacy which flows and invades our furious souls and emanates from my conquering vision feeds the ironwill of my essence.
Rise my astral spectrum, procreation of the inner temple, through the dreamlands of this betrayer earth we must face the gravefields, eternal mirrors of our desolate future.
Now with the last fragment of sanity, embracing my evocations, violent grim creations I'm left to fight, as the elder wraiths of chaos command my deceased and mesmerized heart...
7. Architects Of Melancholic Apocalypse
I had torture myself with great torments of elder times but bitterness and fatality didn't come alone...
The elements of utter horror beyond all the past horrors, behind fathomless echoes of forlon prosperity.
Let the ravens be cursed like my traitor fate has ever been, summon the dismal blessing of memories.
These desolate lunar-like hills, my only one rest and peace, summon the dismal blessing of memories, decrepit ruins of a dream lost and forgotten, agony from centuries, past and future, coldness runs in every tear of sorrow.
The last tower, hall of vengeance, catacombs of pain, my funeral request...
Once again lying dormant into this pyramid of pain, the refuge for this soul possessed by grief.
Fading into the shades of this necropolis, I'm the last son of the spectral Mictlan.
8. Storm Of Revelations
In this melancholic soil eternal remains of tears and suffering are the seed that i once planted and for the withering i can see insane and weak presence has been here, but before i can glace the final damnation they will experience the greatest punishment ever...
falling from the gray skies the perished decayed pieces of their beloved ones will reach their weak minds and they will dwell together as one, for a thousand eternities, burning in the universal path of disgrace they will take my gift with utter respect and suffering, With my cold melodies of depression at my side the tideless seas are on sight.
Never a majestic treasure has been so damaged...
Be afraid, be very afraid, the storm is getting closer and the revelations i have conjured are the cursed and heretic words of our Cult...
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