To relinquish fear in a breath and discharge its passage to dissolution,
Will it then dismantle the sopor which beyond any doubt beset us?
And if despondency forthwith in blindness will sink and die out, will it discrown the obsessive degradation of our keen insight?
One must learn from the fox and the lion, one must spit in the eye of humanity.
So much turmoil caused by the urge for knowledge, paving the path for profound misery and bitterness.
'Tis all we'll ever know!
Track Name: Infandous Works
Beneath the corrosive flashes, consuming lifeblood that lies beyond the edges of Cimmerian shores, vitiating the waters where primogenial innocence emerged once, I gazed into your eyes of bygone horror.
I've seen eternity's end.
And so I've listened to your anguished heart beat, thundering and waking the dead, against the fiery and crumbled soil until it abjured.
Waiting in line for the vindication to our dejected means of continuity, with only one uncertain step we descend into delirious cryptic grounds, that encumber the bitter rays exposing our inceptive parodic exegesis.
Nothing more beyond, your death is my life.
Track Name: F
Facing the hesternal flames so fiercely adumbrating the pages of tribulation.
Behold myself descending into the chasm, rupturing the surges of apprehension.
Twisting inside its momentum towards annihilation, towards the circular conclusion of a flawed paradigm.
Why rebel against time as a gesture of impiety, for your struggle is less compelling than the raindrops rippling in the rivers.
Nevertheless, to be a witness in a silent and serene spire is to be already bereft of life.
Becoming a perfect embodiment of failure like the rest of your kind.
Track Name: Epicede
Nothing will settle our vexed dissection of untouched depths, not the revulsive oddity nor the nature of beast.
Drowned in derision and drenched in utter torment.
When our tarnished recognition will face the curtains of an impending downfall in the autumn of years, I shall walk amongst the few heralds and fly the flag at half-mast.
Yet not as a sign of respect, rather of ridicule and contempt.
Throughout generations the prospect of our breathless urgency for elation
has been plagued ever since inception, and still we fail to notice the charade.
Rejoice in your own abnegation, the tomes of delusion are soon to be torn and thrown into the trenches of abhorrent putrescence.
Into their very own fountain which embittered the cores of being. My oath of renunciation has been already taken.