Splintered roots wink
on frozen soil, the trace of spoil.
Chopped wigs where heads fell.
Duly gallows rise,
the sun inclined o'er stains of men,
bruises that won't wane.
The shallow wells of their cupped hands
gleaning dark to soak their cries,
horror taints their eyes.
Blackened hearses (whose)
wheels sputter plague neath muddy skies,
sowing violent hearts.
The question is raised:
who's preaching unnoticed,
advocating proxima era?
The opus is done.
Enacting the Kingdom
whose light is a failure,
whose essence is lie.
Instauratio facienda ab imis fundamentis,
abyssus abyssum invocat.
Acts mold the hypostasis,
facts vanquish the promise.
The reign, it is faltering:
a stool and a rope.
Acts mold the brutal hypostasis.
Acts mold the hypostasis.
This is the disease and they
don't see it coming,
scattering their words,
their gurgles turn to rot.
Violence calls for violence,
heads on high poles will accuse,
eyes stuck opened wide.
The promise, it failed them
it failed them all
and they failed it too.
Symbiotic to their doom.
Blood spilled on manure-reichs,
it won't be a cure.
Nefesh which is wasted,
a tribute of souls.
The opus is done
and down falls the Kingdom,
nurturing the dead roots
the harmonic demise.
credits
from The Harmonic Demise,
released December 29, 2018
Music/Lyrics: Scrutator Ignotus
Mixed by Phoebus/Scrutator Ignotus. Mastered by Scrutator Ignotus
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