The dead speaks to me 
 From beyond the grave
 That is why my conscience is
 I've buried the dead alive

 The blood of the child is pure now
 In death it gives me life
 The circle [bad word] 
 Begin another...

 Dark cold icy death
 As the scorpion stings the minds obsessed
 venomous kiss of profane grace
 As shades of hatred reigns
 Silent screams of suffering
 I stand in flames of torturing 
 Goddess of flesh hunger and desire
 Grant me wings of hellish fire
 Know that all my creations spring 
 From blood on the cross in blasphemy
 I am death the creator of sin
 And of the pure I am the wind

 The dance of creeping shadows
 Enchanting all insania
 I've [bad word] evil in soul and mind 
 In a demonoid fantasia

 venomous kiss of profane grace

 In a world so fundamentally weak
 I see no beginning only the end