Taetra philosophia
Walk proud the path which still lies untrodden and not framed within the time and the space No compromises or weak adaptations, do not belong to this shallowness world Wisdom is achieved through a solitude existence, providing foundation for discerning the paths Never abandon the principle of struggle, be radical, have principles, be absolute Transcendent nature of a god, Deus Cornatus, among the ephemeral and the false, a funeral lord! Elementary forces untrammeled, Deus Cornatus, recalled by your own evil spells, a funeral lord here will rise! Deus, Deus Cornatus
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 05, 2026
The scent of wilting flowers is strong and fills the room Adorned with grave carnations, placed down beneath the urn A dim light from votive candles makes the brass of the handles glow And a dirge resounds so clearly as I wrap the shroud with my violet rope Grey wax drops dried for years where the dust has settled slow And a kneeler placed in the middle of the hall with marble walls The rite is grim and place is somber, there's no regret whe the lid's removed The night breeze is now one with moisture and winter creeps among the tombs And the priest betrays the funeral, and the light betrays the grave Hear the chimes of knells... Bones removed
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 05, 2026
The sand drops slow into the glass of time while nothing seems to change But the work of worms underneath the cloth grants no rest to the cold remains The clock ticks on with a silent chime, its echo deep and strange Beneath the moon's pale languid eye decay performs its dance Ambulacrum Luctus, this path we tread A slow and solemn march where our souls are led Through silent halls beneath a grim violet sky We face our tragic end and then we finally die, alone The brittle bones, once held with pride now crumble into dust The worms unbothered, twist and glide transforming flesh to rust Each grain of sand, a life once lived now is lost within the flow The wind, indifferent, moves and lifts the fragments left below Ambulacrum Luctus, this path we tread A slow and solemn march where our souls are led Through silent halls beneath a grim violet sky We face our tragic end and then we finally die
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 05, 2026
Instrumental
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 05, 2026
It lies between the slits, a dark disease that creeps, symbol of a grim decay A sense of weird disgust from remains which drain in dust No one survives the final knell Await and collect the fatal fluids from the dead Sitting in this crypt beholding the process and the bones Stench, putrefaction, residual life forms Await and collect the fatal fluids from the dead A burial place adorned with bones and skulls The reek of rotting corpses calmly drying... Corpus Mortuum, defleshed and dried Violet symbol of distance from the Divine
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 05, 2026
An ancient veil of fierce Misfortune has wrapped all fears with mourn and loss Tiny sharp and shiny fragments, thousands ways beyond... Elusive flashes obscure the vision and let illusion deceive the fool man Superstition cages knowledge and makes blind faiths prevail again Again and again... this! And yet it's weird to receive an answer when wisdom is darkened by trivial thoughts When the will turns back to base desire and leaves the place to shameful lores Again and again and again and again... this! "They wander through dim corridors of hollow doctrines, draped in vestures of borrowed light, yet their steps resound upon nothing but dust. The mask they don as wisdom is but a shroud, veiling the void where spirits should dwell. They prattle of ascent, yet shun the silence wherein the immutable whispers. Not in the murmùr of the many, nor in the frail scaffold of fleeting creeds, but in the fire that sunders falsehood is the visage of truth laid bare."
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 05, 2026
Instrumental
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 05, 2026