Asphyxia
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
Tearing its foes asunder, the demon strikes with a skin like twisting shadows and a tongue silver with lies. Pig’s squeals and roars make its tongue, the language of the dark. No manner of beast daunts it; demons hold no fear but light. Its victim’s screams fill the night, breaking all slumber. Noble men flee before it, their brace resolve destroyed. Traumatised people lie in the demon's wake, all hope and honour stolen in a heartbeat. Under the cover of day, man tried to find a way... Silvertongue, a lord amongst demons, is to be slain!
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Relentless pain. You cry in vain. Horrific reign over your body. Your blood I drain, your clothes are stained. Drives you insane. Sadomasochistic lust. Your pain... My only wish is to be maimed. I cannot find a feeling quite the same as being tortured. I want nothing more than to watch you watch me hurt you sado-masochistically. Bleed you... Scream too... Watch me hurt you now.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Nostrils flare at the stench of a fruit long forgotten. Palms start sweating at desires overwhelming. Sick with aggression... Violent, coveted whims. Hard, blunt axe is thrust into tree's flesh, breaching bark and breaking wood. Crevice ripped anew. Oozing forth the trunk bleeds crimson sap. Branches are weeping, leaves dying. Vile axe hacking at the initial wound. Engorged hatched dripping with tree's vital fluids and wound's own resin. Forgotten fruit lie strewn on the ground just within malicious arm's reach. Brief joy, but then hate. Filled with self-loathing. "It's as though I'm a zombie, I feel no pain. Leprosy's finally broken me. I'm a beast, disturbed and insane!" Roots, soil and grass die away, defiled by the tree. Skies blacken and weep down rain out of sympathy. Splintered wood lies all around, pieces of the object of this imagery... this dying tree...
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
At night the hooded figure rides on wheels of blackened steel and bone. His motorcycle crushing skulls beneath its tires, leaving a trail of hellfire. The hooded figure rides... At night the hooded figure rides his motorcycle, a demonic vessel spreading fear and loathing to all who witness it. The darkest vehicle one could ever wish to find. At night the hooded figure rides, his task to reap those whose time has finally come. The glinting scythe he holds serves its purpose well, rending souls from their bodies, casting them into hell. Squeal of tires, roar of engine, blood curdles.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
I awake to a splitting headache and the freezing cold, and realise I'm surrounded by blood splattered snow. This frozen wasteland is awaking my fear. "Why does my head hurt? How did this blood get here?" I put my hand to the back of my pounding skull. As I pull it away I see what I'd feared. I drag myself to my feet and start running. Unbeknownst to me is why, or where. Confusion overwhelms my jarring fear. "Why am I not dead? I shouldn't be here!" My hand is covered with my own blood and brains, yet I am sprinting like I was never slain. Then standing before me I see myself with eyes alight! Halting, I stand and stare at what cannot be. Is this mirror I see a reality? I stride towards me and I see myself smile before fading away just out of my grasp. I hear a wolf howl in the distance on the blizzardy air, and see a forest faintly through the fog appear. Numbly I make towards it without hesitation. Nothing concerns me about my destination. As I grow closer there's a turn on the wind, my footsteps inaudible beneath the din. Breaching the first trees, the wolf I heard stands before me. It pads towards me with intent in its eyes, and as I gaze at it, it speaks to me. Wise are its words and deliberately spoken. It claims that I'm a victim of possession! I feel my demon rise and take over control. Breaking skin, my ribs burst forth. Searing pain fills my body. Unwilling, I try to hold back the beast deep in me, try to fight it! I hear the demon voice fill me head, and, chilling, it says: "War with a demon is one you can't win so give it up. You're dead!" My mind sighs... And thus I die.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Pray yourself away. Worship your self-inflating deity for another day if it helps you sleep at night, gives you some rules and morals to live by up until you die. But then it all just fades away. Your moral standings mean nothing at the end of the day. Thinking in the long run, you live and help the world none. Your conscience dies uncomfortably. "Cast out the demons from deep within! Cleanse a soiled soul of all its sins!" Market salvation to the weak of mind, buying your place in 'heaven' at the end of your time. Stop cutting other's paths with the religion you sell! Martyr, liar! You're scared of a false hell.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Perpetual nighttime approaches. Fair meadows and glades shadowed by fog. Hell is restless; its hordes are rising. Demons defiling the earth, molesting the innocent. Our world will succumb to the darkness. Skies will burn. Black sea of hate. Under the shadow of oppression, death and decay are all that remain. Nightmares realised, revelations carved in the flesh of those betrayed. Lifeless bodies lie bloody and rancid. The blood of the world on your hands.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Spoken is the DragonLore. With scales glinting ruby under the moonlight, a noble dragon flies high. Named Thurion is he, wise and ancient as can be, but quick to pride and anger. He has no knowledge of where he is bound. Danger lies just before him. A demon lies ahead, hiding and waiting. Unsuspecting, the dragon glides forth carefree. A tweak of suspicion in Thurion's mind: "Something menacing waits ahead. What beast would have quarrel with me?" Of all tales of old, one is told most of all: The epic of Thurion. The DragonLore. Silver tongue, the demon names himself, and evil is his intent. Quickly approaching ambush, Thurion is on his huard, expecting an attack. Suddenly he is stricken. A deep and vicious blow pierces the dragon's hide and flesh, serving only to anger. The dragon whips around his head and billows forth his flame. Fire engulfs Silvertongue. The demon perishes and Thurion is remembered!
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.