Cold mystery of ancient curse
Close stench of [bad word] corpse
Scaring thoughts in the head of the sick
They’re written in blood on sacrifical bricks
The wild power of evil art
Poor victims lie torn apart
The vague figures in the mordant smoke
I see the dark silhouettes
As they shape in the fog

Night it draws my portrait on its shining face
The demonic magician
Drowned in disgrace
Among the dead I rise
My empty eyes
They don’t see the light
They are amber
Like the moon of december
Who is next to dismember?
And I don’t remember how they died

Shamanic Rites

I sit all alone
Amidst the carnage
I worship and moan
In the darkest nooks
Somewhere deep in my head
I can see them
I can see them all dead