Unto the Knife

A sulfurous stench  that captures the greed of life.
Like flesh unto the bone, and both unto the knife.
An ulcerous wench enraptured with the falling night.
Embracing with the moon while racing from the heaven’s bite. 

For horns, forewarned.
The dream evolved.
For horns, forewarned.
A race absolved.
A raced absolved and now...

The crawling web of sacred dead can rest, betrayed.
To your lament will not be saved.
The crawling web of sacred dead can rest, betrayed.
To your lament will not be fucking saved...

By the vow of rapture or the holy ghost.
And the vessel of virtue becomes a fevered host
for endless torture, to darkness betrothed.

For horns, forewarned.
The dream evolved.
For horns, forewarned.
A race absolved.
A raced absolved and now...

The crawling web of sacred dead can rest, betrayed.
To your lament will not be saved.
The crawling web of sacred death can rest, betrayed.
To your lament the sacrament with not be fucking saved...

Divining heart, the rise of the dark...the dark.

Feel the change in the sky, his stirring.
Feel the cold and hellish blast.
Feel the fatal lie enduring backwards through time to the past.

When the righteous being dances unto the ways of rust
and the crux of truth collapses into a ghost of dust.

The wrath of the watcher, in sacred rest betrayed.
The wrath of the watcher, the sacred won’t be saved.