The dead speaks to me

From beyond the grave

That is why my conscience is

I`ve buried the dead alive



The blood of the child is pure now

In death it gives me life

The circle is complete

Begin another...



Dark cold icy death

As the scorpion stings the minds obsessed

A venomous kiss of profane grace

As shades of hatred reigns

Silent screams of suffering

I stand in flames of torturing

Goddess of flesh hunger and desire

Grant me wings of hellish fire

Know that all my creations spring

From blood on the cross in blasphemy

I am death the creator of sin

And of the pure I am the wind



The dance of creeping shadows

Enchanting all insania

I`ve become evil in soul and mind

In a demonoid fantasia



A venomous kiss of profane grace



In a world so fundamentally weak

I see no beginning only the end