The Sorrows of Centuries Past
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Awaken atavism Prepare for war For what was worshiped will be feared And what was feared will be worshiped The loneliness in man is bleak Yet within in it he finds creation Deprived of light, deprived of touch Each caress like glass cutting flesh This land once bounded our agonies The Word of words buried for centuries Despair no more, grand serpent be close Time of renewal, spectrum at our glance Silent sorrows affixed to life Solitary paths form thy gateways Solace a dream, succumbing to night To be clandestine Is to embrace darkness... Symbols slumber behind the eye Their dormancy enters into final Voice of ages lost, within the air Alas our remembrance of our forgotten past... Sacred rites return us to our lands... Through this moon lies thy path Her luminescence surrounding Her essence guides thee An opened womb. A dying garden An altar made of dirt and bones The loneliness of thy echoes Plagues this unforgiving ashen air Oh, how the effect of the night Creates a bond with the cold Their tombs illuminate by perpetual flame Communication reached in channeling An astral cloth soothes thy aching bones As all I was deprived, revives, within the I The radiance of the setting sun Brings such bliss within thyself For when it arises in the morrow It shall herald in our centuries past
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Ossious and ravished thy bones Violated and scorned thy mind Once a picture of health, Now a portrait of disgust And through this wilderness I am forced to wonder and serenade The ghosts which encroach thy path... Towards death Blood and toil before the bond Static truth, to an awaiting zenith To debase and lessen ourselves Is to keep the glorious symbols hidden I look to the heavens as well as below It's the space between that I must follow Misery surrounds us fast A lycanthropic call within us A dormancy alas yearns to quake To extinguish the call of the white light Ignite iron wills! Swords forged in abysmal cauldrons In lairs where the old words are kept Worms rejoice for they'll soon have their harvest The fruit which lingers, the flesh of man Victory is ours at last Bones of the fallen line our pathways Gates have flung open revealing our past... While it is grieved, our songs lie unsung... Our oaths, our bonds Ominous and sealed Our swords, our hearts Dormant and clean The thinnest, blackest thread Used to sew the Book of Tongues The nexions of our apparitions Upon the dead horizon, Where all hope seems to fade Dust is blown from thy coffin lid Unto the frozen winds As thy throat drips crimson seances To beckon forth thy grand demise I shed before thee this mortal coil
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Serpents coil in the vestibule Of thy heart, within thy ribcage They whisper to me the arts Starving for this I shed all boundaries As sewn images, Soon became knowledge Now I wield winds that which measure Chaos with time... Waters mingle, serenaded By the ancient voices... They cry out, those whose names shall Never be forgotten, Neither through age nor spirit, Their reign begins as one is ending... Towards, towards To the lands of our gods To forge the bonds and weapons used to Bring forth damnation To war, to war To avenge our forefathers And to rid the seed that which the white light hath created The earth tears open, black clouds reign An emotionless sky, The silence deafening
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Entering through keyholes Thy shadow stalks it's prey Taste of blood on gnashing teeth Thy mind gives thoughts to thy grave Although their world abandons thee It is the funeral thy soulless body craves On this journey towards mortality I roam, trapped within blood soaked urges Within the Tragic Realm we exist In the absence of light... A melancholic void of sorrowful twilght We deny the modern world, and return To the ways of old, as we answer... The beckoning ancient black call Violating what is visceral and alive For essence sustains this mirrored life Alone, secretive and deceptive Throats pierced to flow adrenochrome Before the morning sun usurps the night Before mourning psalms usurp the silence A dark path of blood abided by parasites shall flow Darkness shalt be the bond through chaotic voids... Crawling in desperate, decaying trances Compulsed to murder under crescent moon Till sunrise summons thy remains to ash To all men, I am all plagues incarnate Within the Tragic Realm, we exist In the absence of light... A melancholic void of sorrowful twilght We deny the modern world, and return To the ways of old, as we answer... The beckoning ancient black call Amidst this Tragic Realm, we exist In the solace of night... In a desolate void of sorrowful moonlight We deny the living world, and return... To the ways of yore, as we answer... The beckoning funeral call
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Everyday empty shells of human around me, still I am alone, I was born into this winter deep alone, I am the last of my kind, like this beautiful landscapes before my eyes, poisoning impurity, parasite of my home land, If no one is willing to stand beside me, then proudly, I fight alone!
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026