I ceremonially predicted your distress
I raised this stone as a ghastly memorial
It has not been visited by the sun
Not been carved with an iron knife
Let no man lay it bare
While the waning moon wanders
Let not misled men remove it.

Per lapidis hoc signum
Fugiat procul omne malignum.

Immemorial parchment skin... what horror fills your scrolls!
All exegeses of the foulest words failed to proclaim what your lines unfold
In darkest chambers of celestial dust
All despondency found a written word
Out of silent elysian libraries
Emerged God's ensanguined bestiaries...
Pictured occidental beasts, aeons of filthiest glory, liquefied in sacred ink
Those impure fables seem to ruefully conceal a primordial holy instinct
Ancestors ruined descendants
In Amok against all wisdom and salvation
Eschatological testimonies
Composed God's ensanguined bestiaries...
Soiled, unregarded tapestries
Faded, salvational calligraphies
Out of elysian libraries
God's ensanguined bestiaries.

If thou... still creeping
Beheld us... still dreading
Thy sinister heights
Thou'd stand as a mere rock for us indeed,
A moloch for worms
A colossal artefact
Guardian and denouncer of the weak
Yet... In pristine and eerie beauty thou'd dwell
Trumpets... resounding with cacophony
And smoke... effusing venom
Now ascending Mount Sinai
Whose bounds are trampled down
Since heaped up with the sands of time
Outlived as a moloch for worms
Outlived as a colossal artefact
Monument and monolith of oblivion
Here... In profane and moribund solitude thou shall vegetate
Imperishably.

And it shall come to pass,
That when they make a long blast with the ram's horn,
And when ye hear the sound of the trumpet,
All the people shall shout with a great shout;
And the wall of the city shall fall down flat,
And the people shall ascend up every man straight before him.

None of my words is adorned with devoutness
And I do not endeavour to rule over sin
She lurks... and blemishes me with unbearable disgrace
Fearfully attempt trough no debar me from rising up against thee
For you bear a void grandeur before a void idol
Box sanguinis fratris tui clamat ad me de terra!
Abel... what is this blood on my hands?
...where have I been?
My punishment is greater than I can bear.
Box sanguinis fratris tui clamat ad me de terra!

Earth's hell was a pit of fuming furnaces
Firing cauldrons of blood
Moving monstrous wheels
Where the air was stale from foul belief
In a shadow, so faint - yet salaciously desired
... to be that of god... to reach into these naked depths
And shaped in soot... a silhouette
Of outstretched arms and torso
At a giant cross...
A desperate view onto the restless mills
That grind... grind... grind...
Jahwe, you were the breeder of a pest cocoon
And whatever your gift was -
Dreadful were the mills that crushed it.

And then he fell, and darkness crept across his eyes,
And atrocious arch pounced into his mouth, and all through ran the brazen lance,
Deep inside beyond the brain, splitting the white bones.
Expelled were the teeth, both eyes filled with blood,
Spouted wide out of mouth and nostrils, and death's black fume surrounded him.
As if rabid wolves lunge at lambs and goats, and wrest them away from the flock,
That is scattered in the mountains due to the shepherds ignorance;
Those, beholding these, immediately mob them and lacerate them, these timorous beings...
Thus lunged Theriak at Baal.

Our bluster and catapults shatter the holy Holy Lands
Blessed with a warm psalm of apostolic propaganda
That captures our hearts
Between insurmountable city walls and sanctified sodomy
Outremer... Four flags are flown without a triumph!
As we forfeited our North to some cryptic enemies
Reinterpret now the sermon to attack dispensable allies
Let o thy imperial command be a battle cry to the occident
Suspicious we are, yet so spiritually armed
O dreadful bereavement!
This carnage in your honour, and against an impure Palestine...
Under siege... Bless your blood, Franconian cannibals!
Catholic conqueroar ascends in Latin harbours
Old manoeuvres now misled and undermined
An eye for an eye
Feast upon heretical gore and orthodox cannon fodder
Crusaders... Raise the Golden Horn to the conflagration ahead!
O majestic ironhand of doom
Have you received our immolation?
Let our deeds bequeath a martial dogma to our descendants:
Our despots cleansed the Levant!

The giant excrement accumulation still awaits mine
My fetid, pestilent, venomous faces
Prepared to devour all, but not yet willing
Not sufficiently mortal
I should rapidly unmask what breeds this gleam within me
A lure for the beast
...to creep ahead
...to bleed, to howl
...to exult
...to mutilate the mind
This is a futile, miniature moment... again
And an atrocious castigation that befalls me
For a peek out of the crypt
I decipt the realm as kingless
Where all semen is foul, omnivorous, suicidal
I demand a Messiah!
Pathetically faint burns this flame of awareness
When the grand, imminent bereavement
Leaves me suddenly bereft
...bereft of a dominion
...bereft of air and voice
...bereft of my piss
...bereft.