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Sometimes when I visit the landscapes of the shadows |
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Something that recalls the grave |
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Hides in the hellish depths and awaits |
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When I dream, it peeks into empty goblet |
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(and) becomes the wine of ecstasy and licentiousness |
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I know the one in a flock said: "Watch out, watch out" |
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But I will not go away till I taste the sweetness of your body |
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No matter it poisons and causes death |
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The past is like an eternal funeral |
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Years, thousands of them, I rotted in a monastic cell |
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I resembled a stone, hiding my murderous self in silence and fear |
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I lasted in the infinity of meditations and contamplations |
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Waiting for the deserved dream, there on the holy land |
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And its taste and coldness I remember |
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Bare-foot digging my own pit |
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I was kissing it as if the sweetest lover and begged |
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But was the sandto become my salvation |
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Or worms the people on the court of light |
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The past reeks of an oak coffin, so wet and old |
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Burning dirty claws in the wooden eyes of Jehova |
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I killed mercy, spotting on the laws of god |
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I celebrated the birth of power |
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I fall in love with freedom and the beast |
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And I spat out the Antichrist from my morbid womb |
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In order to give life to alvine grain |
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And concentrate the birth of human tragedy & destruction |
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I envisaged myself as a great magician |
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Althought they called armageddon the whore |
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Today I celebrate my birth, though I am elder than the world |
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The past only sometimes is like the sind |
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That we grave-digger throws in your eyes |
