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1. |
The Write of Suicide
04:44
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A crown held in evil.
In the deepest night, a torrential void.
Calling in stark awareness, the winter's horde.
In solid form, the ritual's burn.
Taken is the merit of crucible's worth.
Solid is the frozen ice above the burial's earth.
To which whole Satan's sow.
To which whole Satan's sow.
Waning the season's ritual.
The will's enrichment, an action of absent dereliction. Emboldened in what is ancient, in what is old.
Christ's penchants to Satan's hold. A binding of the holy forevermore.
In truth, forgotten whisper.
Forged aberration, ominicidal ritual. An evermore exile, Man's daughter to suicide.
Rid the worthless through the hopeless of their bodily lore. Believers to Hell's infinite torture.
The unchanging moor.
Writhe permissible.
Lock the unnatural contortions in this hateful sow.
Man's daughter to suicide,
rid the worthless through the hopelessness of Christ's defeat. Beauty berated in abandon, reveling Satan.
The Belial of emboldened old. Reveling Satan,
the Belial of emboldened old.
Awareness, the flames of agonizing glow.
Man's daughter to suicide,
ominicidal writhe, the endearing curl.
Perdition to ever grow,
the write of the pages of ancient forever holds.
The absolution of all.
Retribution.
The equal to that which was told to fall.
To all, the write of suicide.
To all, the murder of self.
Of all, stolen what was taken.
I fail to die.
The victor to never fall.
The victor to never fall.
To never fall.
In the deepest night, a torrential void.
Calling in stark awareness, the winter's horde.
In solid form, the ritual's burn.
Taken is the merit of crucible's worth.
Solid is the frozen ice above the burial's earth.
To which whole Satan's sow.
Waning the season's ritual.
The will's enrichment, an action of absent dereliction.
Emboldened in what is ancient, in what is old.
Christ's penchants to Satan's hold.
A binding of the holy forevermore.
A binding of the holy forevermore.
A binding of the holy forevermore.
Truth, the forgotten whisper.
A binding of the holy forevermore.
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2. |
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The immortal wretched, the foul disposition of human failure,
the trench within.
Callous the emotional penchant, hardened to forever beneath,
churning darkness, the beauty of light evermore forgone,
the palace of Leviathan.
The scent of spice, the reek of linger.
For there is no propensity denoted pleasure.
Drenches the sea, the Leviathan dwellers lost to be.
Keep to me not, for I relish a revel in the passing of those lives' ceasing.
The fool does rise for the dine of home's wife keeping.
Worthless the being reverberate of all past. An arrest of moving.
The illusion of existence in evolution.
A mirror of anthropomorphic vacancy. A millennia of deceased.
An aberrant manifestation of nothing. The world is dead.
There is no avail in the palace of reflection's toying.
Like a thief, robbery of the beast.
Yet devoid the reap.
There is no avail in the palace of reflections' meritless toil.
So beyond the venture, an exiting of the profligate gild.
In search of solace fit for evil.
Solace fit for evil.
For what was thought it shall be mine still.
A robbery, yet kept of, and then an ensuing execution,
the demise of cowardice in moor.
The demise of cowardice in moor.
This deficient planet is swine, I am God,
the execution to irrevocably stand,
for what future cannot enact itself in the abstraction of time.
In the fathom of illusory thought.
The fathom of illusory thought.
This deficient planet is swine, I am God,
the execution to irrevocably stand.
There is no avail in the palace of reflection's toying.
Like a thief, robbery of the beast.
There is no avail in the palace of reflections' meritless toil.
So beyond the venture, an exiting of the profligate gild.
In search of solace fit for evil.
I am God.
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3. |
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4. |
Winter's Burial
03:25
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Complacency
This life.
An iteration of eternal loss,
looming in a retrofit of definition.
As too the God of heaven and the mire of salvation,
as is devoid.
Of all promises hoped and failed to be,
as too the shear of certain unattended demise,
of no endearing eulogies.
A place of the barren, the merit of hatred replacing beauty,
beyond the common's paradigmatic haunting fantasy.
A peril of consternation within, repeatedly dwelling,
rife is great failure,
this life.
A paragon of lasting sickness, of ineffectual ideal.
A care for those of nothing,
a conviction foisted on oneself,
so become reacquainted with past trauma.
As if its sought manifestation will abate a lack of understanding,
found laden in non-beseeching thought.
To demise empathetic ear, an extol given to the duplicity,
to the effort of self-correction.
Furthered the forming of a grand desperation,
so soon retrofitted.
For what was of oneself, has, and always will be.
Curse not with the temptation of delusion.
Existence is never nearing, what line of division,
what good lives in the illusion of tomorrow's newest dawn.
Your daughters have never seen a more prominent revile.
Your men of highest covenants,
in your cheers of no absolution, of a self-driven destruction.
Resist the pitiful qualms of yourself.
Cowards,
held in unwoven seconds of microcosmic fear.
Here, heralded.
A terror ever-consuming,
a genuine rejection in an equivalent everlasting.
This life living, a murder to gilded trust,
of fittest adaptation, taken to wolves.
For where the burden,
where the place of abomination within oneself.
This life, a toiling of forged falsehood in its curing,
fraying in constant immure, a Satan of subjective design,
so the iteration befalls its promise,
redefined as the malevolent ire of incessant effort to failure.
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5. |
Immortal's Wretch
03:24
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Rebirth
Enthralled
As if it were Christ who's compelling me now.
In muddied waters, outstretched, unabashed in its own licentiousness,
to dwell the weak.
To leave enamoured the desolate.
Enslaving joviality's absence.
To evil.
To hope not, benefit not, and to recall the fault.
A callous vileness so well exalted,
brought forth as if to burn the flesh of false salvation.
Find me in my emptiness, in your evermore rejection.
To which winding the haunt of consequence.
To no rejection.
To no direction.
Memories of the pessimist,
a doctrine.
Heave not,
for there was not anything.
Draw down the blackening shade,
choose to reside within,
fruition's centre,
of the devoid.
Carry deep the burden of none's company.
So far striking,
an eternity repeating.
Curse the holiness that is to blame.
Affix a new cross, a new God.
Allocate a great hate to leave. Inconsequential the shame.
Fail again.
Fail again.
Tempted by the ideation of a myth's manifestation.
So putrid, so worthless.
Each step an ever-extention of ephemeral existence,
a meritless purpose.
An inadequacy vies to light,
I, to fall in finding the new form of longing.
Willing to die, forsworn a Heaven.
There is no place of loving.
Chosen hastily,
the fade of my wholeness,
but what not is fleeting.
To evil.
To hope not, benefit not, and to recall the fault.
A callous vileness so well exalted,
brought forth as if to burn the flesh of false salvation.
Find me in my emptiness, in your evermore rejection.
To which winding the haunt of consequence.
To no rejection.
To no direction.
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6. |
The Bleakness of Morning
05:47
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In the draw of consciousness,
of paramount feat, of irreparable breathing.
I am done.
So broken, so without a felt connection, sever the sincerity that lies in blame.
Destroy the life that dwells in every morning, always in vain.
Vile creation, pure failure, a broken bodily home, still to rot, a dereliction, born so as to covet an ever-nearing demise.
So then die.
Bury the cowardice, invite in solemn beckon the depth of evil. Exude this fantasy in moments of torrid fear, of what is nothing.
Join in with Satan, as though it were to permit a mitigation of the eternity never within mind.
A reality, an abyss, feel Christ's curse.
So now,
The light is gone.
And I am well.
The light is gone,
delusions to no more succumb, the light is gone.
Home and hope to be beseech no looming future.
Welcomed Hell.
In this perceived illness, I am only well.
I will cast myself to fall.
Watch as I emitt a baleful brilliance in this instance of immolation.
Killing myself in my selfless retribution.
So then die.
Bury the cowardice, invite in solemn beckon the depth of evil. Exude this fantasy in moments of torrid fear, of what is nothing.
Join in with Satan.
A reality, an abyss, feel Christ's curse.
So now,
The light is gone.
And I am well.
The light is gone,
delusions to no more succumb, the light is gone.
Home and hope to be beseech no looming future.
Welcomed Hell.
In this perceived illness, I am only well.
I will cast myself to fall.
Vile creation, pure failure, a broken bodily home, still to rot, a dereliction, born so as to covet an ever-nearing demise.
So then die.
Bury the cowardice, invite in solemn beckon the depth of evil. Exude this fantasy in moments of torrid fear, of what is nothing.
Join in with Satan.
So now,
The light is gone.
And I am well.
The light is gone,
The light is gone.
I will cast myself to fall.
Watch as I emitt a baleful brilliance in this instance of immolation.
Killing myself in my selfless retribution.
In this perceived illness, I am only well.
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7. |
Bereft
03:42
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Of None.
Your lust, to never this life
Altered by rejection so visceral, ending in psychoses,
what potential for reciprocity
A wretched bog of wallow in self-destruction,
oblivion of meaning and purpose
Ring the callous notes, beckon the revile of dawn,
leave this felsh ablated, left enough, so as to go on
Treading a vastness of vacancy,
the halls of forsworn empathy, ringing the notes
A blank vessel, emotionless,
a vagrant unabashed in the nothing that encompasses
A theft so great, so vile, a dereliction to flames by the caretaker
Heave tomorrow in your weightless arms,
trenchant the weave thought inextricable,
ineffable the dreams of the madman cutting, irrelevant markings,
as so within a broken tautness of covering
So then give him the night, visions of precognizant truths,
audacious the bestowing of a gift to the bereft
Curse to crushing, mending the not
A sententious remark befallen of its own entropy
Cease not the decay, but remain,
hold the mired hands of those who reach for a life
Yet not.
To who will ever forget, to he who coins the dejected,
as to be deemed a people's leader
Coward in white, the forsaking onlooker,
to a beseeching death,
an ultimate demise, a paradise of memories infinitely drained
Burned of the paralyzing devoid
To not heaven, for hell in the place of flames
Find me not, for where is the looming realm
The existence of eventuality, the evermore stoking of fire,
a mound to ciders, and so the crux of the withered,
and so the crux of the withered.
Your lust, to never this life.
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8. |
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Transient.
And in the dawn, as every grey lit sky reveals its hollow spar,
the God of this world and that of physical irrelevance,
fills me in florid dread.
Profligate, cold, mourning the ash of each day's birth.
As irreverent as I am toward this planet and its devoid worth,
to this, perhaps deserved.
Yet,
the desire of love forever lost is as conscious as the black is stark.
To what end,
in which looming horror does the beast vanquish in finality.
I search in earnest, bring this eventuality, rid this eternity.
Voices written in skin, begging a direction,
a purpose in discovering conviction.
The lifeless void of this listless melancholy draws me to no love.
So the writes speak on, whispers of madness being absolution,
an alternative of immediate reality, a christ of this type of remedial design,
a trenchant cove of weary sailors' bliss and escape.
Hope so well illusory,
tempting those unclothed and unwilled to be.
Too brazen all memory. A curse fixed in its lasting.
A body defiled, a sight reviled.
Forevermore gone,
To on, an enigma of duplicity guiding me along,
As ascribed to death, beating his immortal mockery's drum,
A servant,
finding the familiar dawn.
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9. |
The Spoils of Tragedy
03:50
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Allegiance.
Never will the desire of self-hatred tread to the realm well relinquishing
Absent is and has been putrid hope, 'only is' is the now of forevermore
Watch in your own wallow as my interminable suffer prospers
I am the very vileness of which initially was the implement of my adorning affliction
To no avail the mores of men, set your eyes fixed,
witness the emotionless transpiring,
the stark concerted effort of the remorsless and the horror of the utter wicked
I have marked myself, so deeply lies the sheer
A brokenness of no reconciliation,
yet rather my revel and deplored seeking of a dissent strain of laudability
All for the extol of Satan
I have set myself away, of great disparity, a line interminable,
a place to be in void
Inextricably sown to the weave of evil, my dreams are of Hell
Extent no hand,
lead your mind in no suspicion of temporal precedence,
believe the madness
Submit to the egregious black within
Tactile is the darkness, a comfort like that of placid silk,
kind is the enemy of God
Be well in sorrow
As all converges into the greatest of dissentients,
lost is all pain, sown is every bleed
As the bellow rises beyond your most desperate of reach,
dwell sound within the darkest of dragons,
the most powerful of all wrong
As the inconspicuous choice,
reflected in images of a heaven soon foregone,
gently grazes the mind
In tear,
the soreness of countless instances of Christ's failures won't lead you to fall to deny
Paradise is never benign,
but rather the constant of evermore rejection and abandonment
For of this, to this, I have forsworn all faith in love
I give myself eternally to Satan, dust to dust as soul is to flame
My reverence, my pledge of solemn allegiance
My most sincere conviction, all is to mire, to us all only death
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10. |
Of No Relent
03:10
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Lucidity.
Delving into a realm of absent emancipation,
hollow is truth, myth is redemption
In callousness the intrinsic self does sway,
to permanent moratorium the ways of affection
One does tread the path of the moor,
acceptance given to the reality of certain demise
Behold the void, the black mass, the most grey eclipse of winter
The architect of love,
thought,
and form.
Omnipotent is evermore presence
An amalgamation of purpose,
espoused to know the outcome of the with and without
Quiver the foible, under the auspices of my method of edification,
a slip to a cacophony of failure
Entrenched in bellows of Hell's eternal mire,
screams once shearing now dulcet
Lost is the consternation of falling enamored with all that is ill and wrong
Depravity fits all too well
I understand through my intuitive primordial spirit,
the holder of the throne of perdition is the all of all's fortitude
His behest is of superlative architecture, there is none greater
For he dwells in brightest of fires, unscathed and to no hindrance
He is only left with further poised primacy,
emboldened in enigmatic hatred, proliferating the killing of angels
Christ wallows in their oblivion, as the follower is slain, so does he die,
for he dwells within
I am endowed simply in his unrelent of presence
So as the blood slips into river, as your body has been discarded in water,
headless, dismembered
As your mind is still active within the event's utter horror,
bobbling in directionless trepidation
The fire of stark might you will learn to remember
For no righteousness cared,
none to vindicate your brutal murder,
remorseless the men birthed killers
For death, for Hell, awaits us all.
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Deciphering the Luciferian Fort Frances, Ontario
Daniel Herbert - Everything
Deathcore out of Canada.
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