Blood on the ScreenBeckoned to the frontlines, to ease the pain from starving stomachs.
No floods of tears, no stench of death on the screen.
Beckoned to dismiss, chosen to defend.
The population reels, when consistence is our enemy.Beckoned to the frontlines, to ease the pain from starving stomachs.
No floods of tears, no stench of death on the screen.
Beckoned to dismiss, chosen to defend.
The population reels, when consistence is our enemy.
Hell in the DarknessShockwaves resound never felt in the bastions of madness,
the sun sets unnoticed again.
In a hell of gray, a flood of locrian noise,
full of deafening rain,
sings the song of the storm:
"Welcome to a hell in the darkness."
Shockwaves resound never felt in the bastions of madness,
the craze of the voices begin:
Moths To The FlameWhen the street's symphonies meet the last opposition
to the harmonies embedded in their sequenced affairs,
angels will scatter the land, fluttering, flying like moths to the flame.
Rising to march on the eastern plague, rising to march on the savages ways.
Fluttering, flying like moths to the flame.
Wait until tomorrow
Reactionto sheer nothingness,
the last breath of reckless abandon
a flash to eclipse milleniums and wash away
the footsteps of faithless fatalities