Dies Ater The Last Of Storms
Born in haunted captivity as stars bled
Dusk's bringers of storm, a degraded rapture of light
Driven by storm, conquered hazy fields
While fallen emperors were drowning through the night
An imbrued and tortured valley, sweet wounds not to heal
Gleaming in faint moonlight, left for ages...
Distant towers, covered by mighty shadows
Glancing in a feral light - realm of ice
Infernal fires introduce the coming of Hell
Longing for promised victories - resurrection's storm
With raging insanity on the Almighty's side
Swords spilling out men's lives - the battle turns
A wounded, withering landscape left behind
Where carnal statues turn to dust
As daylight sets for the coming of the deciding dawn
A tremendous clash hits the vanquished battlefield like a funeral storm
And finally as dark turns to light,
A memorable solitude of despised souls pushes within sight.
An elemental light-crushing victory for men, so night shades are free to crawl,
Perpetual sounds invoking prayers, hear them whisper and murmur.
An obsessed, even doomed army graced by the devil's mark
A devious hunger for a disgusting feast, strange illuminations to come
Wounds ... sinner ... war ... breathing fire
Chaos ... master ... flesh ... trembling dawn
A burning throne, absorbing all surrounding delight,
Gifted with cold supremacy
A tearful, dark time under the reign of one king
Thundering down its divinity.
Fierce, unhearted creatures inspired by a gloomy cohort,
Now guarding once tender seashores.
Compassion being erased, extinguished at the gates of dawn.
Tender dreams to follow this course.
