O Father! Iatros! Witness thou anon!
Mists above, Exhalations below,
I shall forevermore be betwixt all things,
Preventing communion;
Shielding off the weakening beams of salvation
Shining upon the mournful gloom of Earth;
A dreadful interval, sly foundation of ruin,
And breathe warring winds, racking hail
Where just this Morn thrice beloved concord was...

Hearken this hideous peal as they drink the water
Of Styx, for all things shall become my prey;
The water of Acheron, as they silence fragile weeping
With horrent arms; the water of Cocytus,
To laugh at the laments of the Holy Dead;
Yon boiling water of Phlegeton, cataracts
Of fire alike, and the water of Lethe
For what shall remain, even in memories,
But a livid seat of ever renewing desolation?

Hearken thunder from below, like growling gods
Who erupt to be released and bare their fangs.
A long shudder shakes the world as,
Rising upon the bleak horizon, swell into lifeless life
The Commandments that shall sanctify the reign
Of the Specter that gnaws upon Man like
Hounds chew on bones and offal.

The Synarchy of Molten Bones shall consist
Of Men of worth and Men of ill intent
In abandoned yet equal numbers,
For their insurgent wills harbor
The seed of transgression alike.

This seed shall bloom with noxious flowers,
Borne out of the mordant steel of scythes.
Justice will die first,
To the hammering sound of tears watering the Earth,
As aught hope remains to reverse course.

Thou shalt precipitate History,
those days of yonder,
And the solemn roots of the human race
Into the furnace fraught with fire unquenchable.
The names of all things thou shalt feed
To the undying worm
And rejoice at the mumblings of a once potent tongue.

The haughty strides of Time thou shalt put to halt
And mangle Past and Future with ghastly wounds.
While for these deeds thou hast
Borne universal reproach,
Laugh at their vain designs, for scarce the sun hath
Finished his journey, nothing remains but
The dread tribunal of an everlasting Present.

Forge a bond in glowing iron the manacle
Faith with raging Madness, another
Reeking of nitre, to chain Truth with Fear.
Lo and behold, the first of many harvests
Of corpses is thine!
Famished for breath,
An angular neck and eyes aghast,
The effulgence of Horror in this New World
Is without peers.
Thou shalt celebrate the conception and rise
Of the New Man, to whom all he eats or drinks
Is propagated malediction,
A Man pregnant with infernal flame,
Standing on the devastation
Of all things past.

In secretest conveyance, I say
Forfeit all tongues to Death as hitherto
They maintained the memory of the prime Architect
And welcome instead, with yells and hysteria,
The language, mockery of the Logos,
That tastes bitter ashes alike
And mimics exploding hiss.
By repetition, incantation and privation of the psyche
Thou shalt summon words that to the mind are bane
And forevermore close your soul to the heavenly stars.
You may lament aloud:
Dawn shall henceforth rise within a suffocating tomb.

Among all carnage present and past
Only one grave matters,
Hollow and hopelessly out of reach,
The Grave of Singularity,
Over which weeps the Mother of All,
Saddened unto Death.

The further the abasement of Man, the more
He thinks of himself as angelic throng,
Just and saintly!
Thou shalt celebrate the unquestionable perfection
Of this world without end,
In which Life faces dissolution,
With ceaseless Prayers, degenerate Song
And obsequious discipline,
For thy flesh is nothing
But a receptacle for Law ironclad,
Ever since thy volition sunk
Into the deepest of Abysses!

Thou shalt accept thy Revelation
As your beginning and your end,
All other things you are to abjure with spite!
What thy Lord commands with repulsive voice
Tolerates neither addition nor love, nor faith.
Only prevenient submission and servitude
To the utmost limits of the fearful self!
Thou shalt reap lush reward
For taking that solemn oath...
Thy heart shall breed the larvae of plagues
And depletion will complement dearth
In thy hapless pursuit of a merciful void.
See? Thy faith is not void of wonders!

O Father! Intros! Witness thou anon!
The rotten splendor of what once was thy realm,
Now shivering at the black threshold of the grave,
Deprived of the compass of duality,
Hence wretched and drowning in tenfold confusion.
Death, adorned with refined rags,
Parades endlessly in a mimicry of Life,
As innumerable crowds flagellate themselves
In delirious adoration.
The malformed progeny of Sin and Virtue
Reeks of such outrage to the Universe
That even Titans flee submerged with nausea,
Lacking the strength to face this crime,
Which contains all crimes as one!

And yet, of worse deeds,
Worse suffering must ensue:
The second and final rout
Culminates with a Silence
That bears the acrid burden of all things lost
Since thou tamest Chaos,
And a much heavier burden still,
For all things that perished unborn,
For none of the New Souls was found worthy
To partake and witness.
Even the soil turned frigid in a world
Made torrid by scorching heat.

Thou who are the End of All, behold!
To whom belong the faces,
Eyes and knees of the elderly,
The women and the children,
All that walks and crawls?
All belong to you! Nothing more remains.
-But heaven! One arrow, anointed in the balm
Of Internecine Iatrogenesis, shall suffice!

Towards the Dawn, towards the south,
Towards the melancholy west
And towards the North I cry:
Onward where most with ravin I may meet!
The firmament sheds scarlet tears,
Dazzled by this horrendous pyre of a world,
A brazen Holocaust, brighter than a hundred suns
That slowly consumes God and Man,
Trembling beside one another,
Both bemoaning what could have been,
What should have been,
Yet their accusing voices sing the sound of discord
On which I feast with my baneful maw
In eternal hunger.