Yeah No act of spawning was my birth There is no darkness after my dawn I don't command [Incomprehensible] Gods [Incomprehensible] for hatred, [Incomprehensible
A scarab beetle which toils through its phases From an egg through a larva to the protector of the dawning sun Out of unmanifest into matrix of manifestation
[Lyrics: Pavel Frelik, Music Peter Wiwczarek] Sometimes believing in some disembodied being can help find the way in the world. A being that constitutes
You run, you cry, you fear You burn, you slay, destroy You throw the flames and bolts Just forwards, forwards, attack, attack Attack, yeah, yeah Like
I cut myself and still hurt Grey pain still reminds There is no kingdom, power, glory For those who freeze their lives behind Following the wrong God
I suppose you'll tell me you called when I wasn't at home - Say what you mean. I suppose you're not the answering machine type - Say what you mean. Either
Once I was a mortal man Now I traverse the realms beyond The material plane is but a crossroads The epicenter of a temporal abyss. Anchored by the webs
[Words taken from "Revolte" Charles Baudelaire.] O toi, le plus savant et le plus beau des Anges Dieu trahi par le sort et prive de louanges O Prince
I want to be a Playboy?s bunny I?d do whatever they asked me to I?d meet people with lots of money And they would love me like I loved you I want to
O Satan, prends pitié de ma longe misA?re ! Oh Thou, the most savage of angels God only judges mild Those who chant songs to his praise Oh Prince
crush the Franken Ref Ollie North was kicked to death Smashed flat was mutant baby Small Sac had to join the navy The litany of the vanquished The litany
glowing day have died Chorus african! litany! African! litany! I'll sing an african litany for you Fare thee well and fond adieu An african litany for
My love My heart My sweet, oh My sky My fire My heat, oh My work My spring My veil My honey My bomb My grail My gate My gold My thrown, oh My stock My
O Toi, le plus savant et le plus beau des Anges, Dieu trahi par le sort et prive de louanges, O Satan, prends pitie de ma longue misere ! O Prince de
Mario Claudio ? Jose Antonio Sabrosa Seria a noite transida, / Seria um grito na rua, / Seria a porta da vida / Fechada ao rasto da lua. / Seria a chaga
O Satan, prends pitie de ma longe misere ! Oh Thou, the most savage of angels God only judges mild Those who chant songs to his praise Oh Prince of exile
Litanies in Blood I write As Prayers of Supremacy My Paper is the Skin of Mortals Like the Cuts of hundred Needles in their Head My Feather on it is burning
i am one of you a vulture i have been the falcon is my face you'll see that i am more i am one of all all that we see as sacred they are all in me all