Whilst civilization claws the edge if its pit, In a wild scramble to save its deranged plunder, It sinks slowly into the quagmire of its own treachery, Mutating to ever more grotesque spectres of depravity.
The few horrified children, Borne of old hearts, Hide in the shadows from the Babylonian wastes, And quake at the herald of its desolate soul.
Evil and ignorance grows within the kin of Babylon, As its young become vessels for the cursed insanity, And the quest of destruction winds its path, Across the sacred earth, Leaving a trail of blood and graves in its wake.
But life renewed sprouts between stark headstones of ruin, And one day the sane will return to embrace the earth, And darkness shall recede, To the hell, From whence it came.
CONSORT OF DEATH
Hear it surging through the trees, As it wails for thy soul.
Dark shadows against a silver moon, Proclaiming its illusion of grandeur.
It’s cold claws tearing, At thy final flits of freedom, Its chilling bewail, Is calling to thee.
Can thee hear the piercing, Demented howling?
T’is our soul it wishes to vanquish, Wishing to drag it into the, Diseased darkness of the industrial vampires.
Hauled as a child through the towering gates, Of deception and delusion, To the altar of silence, Where thy soul shall be filled with the, Wailing tricksters of human progress.
The citadel of civilization, The consort of death.