Ævangelist - Matricide In The Temple Of Omega lyrics
Tracks 01. Divination
02. Æon Death Knell 03. Omen Of The Barren Womb 04. The Sonance Of Eternal Discord 05. Serpentine As Lustful Nightmare 06. Ascending Into The Pantheon 01. Divination
(Instrumental)
02. Æon Death Knell
Twisting, breaking, the wall of entry falls
My bloodred eyes open and shrouded in skin My womb torn from my outset in the ending And the shaking I bring to reality is all come forth A passionate discord drinking my spilled essence Without cause without reason my glyph is rung Wrung from the steel of every trap like memory And the skin that signals me inked with emptiness Let us bow to her, call the craven masses Let us sing her beauty and perfection The goddess twisted and torn from beginning Êon against the demiurge incarnated Those antisubliminal lights my heritage The ebon grasp on this gnarled carnescence Carnelian sundrance like spoiled blood A reverberation of time unlike time Solemnly, in the highest regard My prayers to you I send, blessed mother Mother and queen to the void Êon against the demiurge incarnated [those antisubliminal . . . ] [tongues] Let us bow to her, drinking my spilled essence Let us sing her beauty--my glyph is rung The goddess twisted from every trap like memory And the skin that signals me inked with emptiness A passionate discord, call the craven masses Without cause, without reason and perfection Wrung from the steel and torn from beginning Êon against the demiurge incarnated 03. Omen Of The Barren Womb
Child, sing the skin of your beginning
This membrane torn out, this burning Blood, slew the song of your evoking That which binds the seed is blackness Made manifest, this endless soft expanse of dual impenetrable The false embedded sense of self that vibrates through our names The Êon is barren the temple is ruins and plague afflicts the whole The firstborn shall not and nothing will come from that which hangs Beneath the surface of meaning and at the edge of knowledge of self-as-god Inability echoes throughout all life Nothing binds and all is aching This prolonged suicide is catholic And the saints dip and melt as one Anechoic slipping voices filled words phonemes pinions of ecstasy Wing south to eternity lace amethyst with chewed flesh of angels Inability Slumbering reminiscence of violation twisted against hope cascading Denial of purgation embrace of seeding with the sleep of the end [child, . . . ] 04. The Sonance Of Eternal Discord
Silence spreads like wildfire
In the depth of beginning Is the seed of the end When the voice aches and bends The stratum is made tight And discarnation looms in echoes Like the tight fist of despair Where the shadows sit My bones do heave All distanced from the name of God In each white hand My sunken gloomred Fragment of still Unshaking form 05. Serpentine As Lustful Nightmare
Our arms in hers, our faces to the void
Spoiled flower of dysfunction enthralling Êon of carnescence, Êon of miscarriage Slipping beauty of excrescence and denouement Our death her life, our shaking her song Bright-dark emblem of entropy beckoning Êon of silk shining, Êon of emptiness One true divinity singing perfect end Cygne-serpent d'ivoire, de dissolution Cette ange dèpouillèe chantait dissonance Ailes des anges noires ma diadëme Realitè mon enfant de sang discontent Que mes aspirations brillent imparfaits Votres ríves fleuriront seules dans mes horizons Dix-sept mes limbes, gesticulant au divinitè Bredouillent du nul qui rèsultait 06. Ascending Into The Pantheon
I tremble to bear forth the word that ends the world
My spine aches to feel des iridèes qui surgent The blossoms which surge to new duty Shimmering spores of goddess-sound to shake the silk Birth of radiation I stifle in the skin of my throat Black petals falling to cloak the shining cosmos Diamonds buried in focused still birth and suicide Burning victorious in the scent enveloping Ik ben moeder--Je suis mëre--I am mother of the end Hail Omega hail the Void I am the blackness I am the end My flameborn diadem of stelliferous devourment Placid with purpose, the welling of my fruit Empty and lashing the towers of the firmament Notre chance sans doigts atteint broderie The grammarie, resin, soaked in my burning bones Calls the end-swan in her iron-trumpeted ribs The gleaming path to the age-dark silver of Him Notre anemi, le coffre sans idoles enfin |