THE PAST IS LIKE FUNERAL
Nergal

Sometimes when I visit the landscapes of the shadows
Something that recalls the grave
Hides in the hellish depths and awaits
When I dream, it peeks into empty goblet
(and) [bad word] the wine of ecstasy and licentiousness
I know the one in a flock said: "Watch out, watch out"
But I will not go away till I taste the sweetness of your body
No matter it poisons and causes death
The past is like an eternal funeral
Years, thousands of them, I rotted in a monastic cell
I resembled a stone, hiding my murderous self in silence and fear
I lasted in the infinity of meditations and contamplations 
Waiting for the deserved dream, there on the holy land
And its taste and coldness I remember
Bare-foot digging my own pit
I was kissing it as if the sweetest lover and begged
But was the sandto [bad word] my salvation
Or worms the people on the court of light
The past reeks of an oak coffin, so wet and old
Burning dirty claws in the wooden eyes of Jehova
I killed mercy, spotting on the laws of god
I celebrated the birth of power
I fall in love with freedom and the beast
And I spat out the Antichrist from my morbid womb
In order to give life to alvine grain
And concentrate the birth of human tragedy & [bad word] I envisaged myself as a great magician
Althought they called Armageddon the [bad word] Today I celebrate my birth, though I am elder than the world
The past only sometimes is like the sind
That we grave-digger throws in your eyes