Tracks

01. Concatenation
02. New Millennium Cyanide Christ
03. Corridor Of Chameleons
04. Neurotica
05. The Mouth Licking What You've Bled
06. Sane
07. The Exquisite Machinery Of Torture
08. Elastic



01. Concatenation

Music by Fredrik Thordendal
Lyrics by Tomas Haake
A stale organic cage. Incarceration
I'm in the stranger: Me
The user of my face; Beneath its guise I rot. A paradox in terms
Interconnected, fused. My words are its thoughts
I now share my self with my reflection
Straining to divide our twined formation. Duality within singularity

Coalescence done, the merging complete, the sentence carried out
The confluence, our interwound flows; Surges not to be fused
In this mental cage we absorb our selves. The only certainty is my suffering
My mind in constant pleas for an end to this concatenation
A struggle all in vain, we're both the same

Plug me in, reconnect me to my self
Plug me in, reconnect me to my soul

Gone are all my hopes, all my vain illusions
Deceived I dwell in me. In the core of my agony
I fade in this duress. I'm weakening
The one who claimed my front is now the claimant of my soul

Into the core of self, the neuro-axis, I fade within the fading core of self I am...
Gone-bound, lost, away, phased out, non-existing


02. New Millennium Cyanide Christ

Music by Fredrik Thordendal, Mårten Hagström
Lyrics by Tomas Haake
I'm a carnal, organic anagram. Human flesh instead of written letters
I rearrange my pathetic tissue. I incise. I replace. I'm reformed
I eradicate the fake pre-present me. Elevate me to a higher human form
The characters I am, made into a word complete, then I'll be the new norm
Self inflicted fractures. I replace my bones with bars;
Aluminum bleeding oxide; The drug of gods into my pounding veins

My receiving eyes exchanged with fuses; Blindness induced to prevent destruction
Ceramic blades implanted past my ribs to save me from the dues of inhalation
I tear my worldly useless skin. Staples to pin it over my ears
Non-receptive of ungodly sounds - I disable the audio-generators of fear

Hexagonol bolts to fill my mouth, sharpened to deplete the creator of all violence;
Without speech their will be no deceit

Baptized in vitriolic acid. A final touch. A smoothing of features
Completion of the greatest art; To cast the godly creatures
Humans, once astray; Made divine. Stripped of congenital flaws
We're incandescent revelations in a world of darkened forms

Disciples, come join with me to save a failed humanity
Follow the god of cyanide into the new eternity
Behold; A sacrificial rase a cleansing worshipping of pain
The new millennium christ here to redeem all from lies


03. Corridor Of Chameleons

Music by Fredrik Thordendal
Lyrics by Tomas Haake
We're the carriers of a new anomaly; Fold, unfold. Bend, shift color
Always turning our backs to the wind. Deaf to the inner voices screaming
Purpose, profit, act only to gain. Blistered tounges from licking greedward
Taste the enemy. Throw up their means. Swallow the bits that fits your needs

Keep your eyes searching in all directions, scanning for opportunities
Off you go. Begin your climb. Aim for the topmost twig of lies

Put on a shape to pass undisturbed. Pick a color to blend with surroundings
Choose a voice suiting, appropriate for the never benignant purpose
Spin your eyes to read the court. Smoothen your path before the start
Even out, fill the holes with the toxic clay of your rotting heart

A contagious neuro-ego-disease. A virus sticking to liars
We're the self-centered fuel to boost the new strain of fire
Adapting, shifting, lacking opinion. Our numbers exceeding the billions
Everly walking among ourselves down the corridor of chameleons

Continue through the skein of boughs, navigate to keep you straight on track
Make the right ramification-turns. Conceit will be your allied guide
Climb the hierarchy ladders invisibly, veiled by the canvas of putrid dreams
Every obstacle surmountable to the clouded vision you've conceived

Scan the wall of truth for cracks. Your prey: The secrets hiding therein
Feed upon its nourishing intestines to bring you forth in the "game"
With every single step taken on the road of games called success,
There's a fee for every lie
The currency: Your dissolving integrity
Will you make it to the top of the tree? Is the fortune there to be found?
Chameleons are a short-lived breed. Maybe fate will find you dead on the ground


04. Neurotica

Music & lyrics by Mårten Hagström
Subdued and repressed. A son of the vortex in faceless progress
Coaxing, tugging, grinding. So elevated, so God
Refit this vessel of confusion to bring the eloquence of the mute
Incorporate this forfeit cause. Assimilate and fake it mine
I bow my head and taste the lies that I'm fed - all to claim my reward
Master and servant. One for all and all for none.
Ignorant to the distant hymns of chaos, the progressive stand before me
Their eyes fixed in the distance, default to conform to the new

They animate me. In confidence I thrive. My reign: supremacy. I speak no word unheard
Re-motivate me. I'm all there is to be. An omnipotent being so complete in my diversity

Ripples race across my eyes. Breaking out in acid sweat
Wills shrivel and crack. Disintegration of my inner self
I find the substance lost. A shed shell of a being of disgust
Done is the cleansing. Complete is the surgery of the soul

Step inside and taste the shackling thoughts that devour all confidence. Realizing I'm lost
Being no more than a mutt with a fake pedigree. Stillborn soul shaped and molded
I can live an eternity in a minute's time. A borrowed talent filled with copied goals
The carcass of hope lies dead beneath the fabric of dreams
Facing the truth within the mirror of souls - ha ha this is what I've become
Always been in this emancipated state. Battered and numb
Just a mindscape fit for illusion to make fear into reign and fulfillment of pain
Kneeling in permanent solitude. The minions of the inside claim me

Re-animate me, cause I was once alive. Defeat smears out my focus. Consciousness subsides
Unmotivated. Beheld by scorching eyes. Infinity stares back at me
The surging darkness coils to strike


05. The Mouth Licking What You've Bled

Music by Fredrik Thordendal
Lyrics by Tomas Haake
I'm the shallow, the superficial. I'm the common man
Faithless, narrow minded, indifferent, impassive
A sycophantic leech. Tantamount to disintegrity
I'm the vulture feeding on malignancy

I'm the sin, the lecherous sneering at prostration
I wallow in disease. I rejoice at degradation
I yawn at misery. Spit at others happiness
An advocate of maipulation. I embrace the sickening

I'm the lost. I'm average. I'm common
I'm infection. I'm human. I'm common
A worm thriving in seas of disgust. I'm common
The mouth licking what you've bled. I'm common

I'm the pampered degenerate. I indulge my inclinations
The only words to my attention are those that I myself creat
Disorder. Chaos

I debar all order, repudiate all purity. Infatuated by contentment
I laugh at lies. Come behold the sickness in my common human eyes

I'm the greed, the cynic. I'm the indifferent gaze
Mendacity, betrayal. This is not a phase
Ebullient with human filth. Here I am. Here I stay
Flourishing in our disgrace. Blessed be the human way


06. Sane

Music by Jens Kidman, Mårten Hagström
Lyrics by Tomas Haake
Come and hear my twisted lies, the way I bend and falsify
A master of deception. User of an untrue smile
A rapist of the truth. Adapting it to fit my cause
I'm the human lie, a sad composition of all things vile

Come and read my tainted lies. Lies
Come see my wretched, tainted mind

Bury, cover up, repress. I betray the people I "possess"
What ever enemy - I'll disable with mendacity
I make my way, extend my ground, I clear my future-path
When it comes to joys, manipulation is my game of choice

How I shine. I...
The perfect freak. Confide in me
Me... Believe in me

My intentions soon you will see
The sway of my scheme, imposed upon all
Come follow me, my puppets to be
I'll attach my strings, manipulation begins

Sane me
I'm the way, I'm the truth
Gather with me, I'm the future guide

Sane me

Gather with me, Join my ministry
I'm the way, the future guide
I'm the self-acclaimed god of wicked games
Sinister, repugnant bringer of pain


07. The Exquisite Machinery Of Torture

Music by Tomas Haake, Fredrik Thordendal
Lyrics by Tomas Haake
A sustained static gaze, oblivious to surroundings
Empty, strained, unmoving eyes; Introverted, paralyzed
A burning mass of emotions denied, enraged by years of silencing
An accumulation of feelings suppressed, returning to devour

Bright rays of chaos, generated by subconsciousness
A retribution by own thoughts twisting the mind into fits
Fuelled with pains unveiled. Burning with contamination
Set afire by disowned self-lies - they penetrate the eyes

I... Am I the next. Self inflicted overload
Thoughts returning to think me away
I... Will I be reprieved,
Or am I just awaiting the sentence of my exquisite,
Internal machinery of torture

The turmoil arises, from the innermost core of denial
Shining streams of putrefaction, reflugent with disease
- in outward motion to redress the balance by retaliation
A terminal journey to relieve cognition of ability
Minds lit like candles, by rejected senses and emotions
Tearing flames, born in mind; Creations of self deception
Strained, not to lose the grip - Humans locked in the new disease
A light by eyes unseen has come to burn us clean

I... Am I the next. Self inflicted overload
Thoughts returning to think me away
I... Will I be reprieved,
Or am I just awaiting the sentence of my exquisite,
Internal machinery

I sense the bodily facilities - discorporated by the light
All my pleas; denied
By my psychogenical enemy
The inner other me

I'm dead. My shape slowly dissolving
Shadows no longer cast, from this lifeless form that I've become

Corporeality fails the grip. Substance now decreasing
Amorphous. Without shape - I'm vanishing. Dematerialized
My own corrosive thoughts - Probes armed with acid tools
Disintegrated, I'm bleached out of reality
Scattered bits internally; My last transparent remains
- floating inanimate objects spinning into my soul
Defeated by my contents. Tables turned, I'm a thought repressed
I'm swallowed into myself. Destination; nothingness


08. Elastic

Music by Mårten Hagström
Lyrics by Tomas Haake
Assembled from dead incompatible pieces. Livid fragments regenerated.
Decomposing bits of organic matter, brought to life, revived.
A liquid, limbless, sickening shape, a faltering semi-floating cluster.
Its sole purpose of creation; To burst the imagination blood-surge.

Defying the mould of human flesh. Smashing the wall of beliefs.
A sight to bring insanity to all dimensional reality.

Carved from thoughts unthought into a graphic, visible delusion of life.
A twisted display of dehumanized features, by cells reflected, refracted.
A frantic dancing of particles, in pathetic attempt at rendering flesh;
Swirling to project the illusion of shape, dimension and mass.

A walking translucent entity. Void, suspended.
Inviolate by all rules, all standards of existence.
An electrified vapor-cloud. A skein of bone and tissue.
An atrocity, a liquid form unshaped to the organic norm.

A mind not filled with thoughts, but a random flickering static.
A soulless creature un-alive; I'm the un-human elastic