Revelatio
I have a dream that God makes me God in the beginning. I have a dream that God gives me grace back. Because i guess it in a dream: « these are the stars, the stars up above that govern our existence. »
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Matter’s profusion and full powers at hand I would expand the universe, invent heaven and earth, raise darkness and light. And as I will be demiurge just as much as devil, Thanks to the black fruits of the tree of evil, I will provoke all the beings. When I will be tired of thrashing the walls of the cold moon, I will release storms that will ravage these few new continents. And that’s when boredom will finish to overwhelm me completely, I will give birth to three monkeys that will be named by themselves. Mizaru, Iwazaru and Kikazaru will love each other to better hate themselves. They will grow constantly, but remain forever fearful against their own. One of them will cover his eyes, another his mouth and the third his ears; Because I would have created them in my own image: alone, selfish, complex and hateful. They will rape their mother, feeding to her breasts and appearing by her sex. They will build their castes and the destruction of this world that I don’t care. And when the daylight will attack my eyelids, when the waves will strike my eardrums, Mizaru, Iwazaru, Kikazaru and me gathered, I would have created God by inventing myself. My first cry will ravage my throat while I’ll be mutilating the organs. They will be the lost stars of my psychic vault, the stars of my disenchantment disorders. I will gather them in a small bloody herd, causing the emergence of primitive constellations.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Ils sont, encore visibles, éternellement présents, nos guides égoïstes tout d’or vêtus. Ils dictent leurs lois, politiques ou divines, à un troupeau de vermines qui toujours s’est tu. Bienvenue aux bergers supérieurs, maîtres qui voient, parlent mais jamais n’écoutent. Acclamons, tête baissée, la grande marche sacrée de ces oracles du doute. Et moi qui les envie, et moi qui les respecte, les aime à m’en haïr et sous leurs robes me jette, Jamais, au grand jamais, plus hâbleur je ne serais qu’en convenant comme esclave ou comme putain blessée. Leurs chants m’apaisent, leur courroux me meurtrit, leurs discours m’excitent et tout cela me donne vie. Souffrons, flagellants que nous sommes, à la gloire inutile de ces tout petits hommes. However, the funeral pyre will blaze up. And we will throw ashes from stellar oracles! Ils sont, encore visibles, éternellement présents, nos froids et capricieux soleils fantasques. Ils violent les âmes, pénètrent les pensées, confessent et soumettent telle que Marthe à Tarasque. Bienvenue aux sauveurs, crispés et maudits, devins ou virtuoses de vaticinations. Acclamons, pris au piège, la rigide démarche de ces rois-architectes de la résignation. Et moi qui les embrasse, et moi qui les sublime, les caresse, les soutiens et pourtant les devine, Jamais, au grand jamais, dissident je ne serais mais pour toujours renégat envers la liberté. Leurs brimades me rassurent, leurs écrits me bouleversent, leurs sermons m’enchantent tout au long de la messe. Souffrons, calmes et dociles agamis, et couvrons les braillements des stressants insoumis.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Uncultivated with dying intellect, the people will forever be our weapon. We are the small group who sees, listens but remains forever silent, As guardians of our own secrets or revealing shadows, We maintain the subtle ignorance, defending our own interests. To deserving uninitiated, the few chosen laymen, Yet we’re completely unveiling, highlighting the unusual. But no endangerment involves this zealous act-like, For those who taste the food of the dead remains forever prisoners of Hades’s kingdom. The increasing futility of the world we use constantly, Because it is an infinite well of water-poison by which we bathe unholy crowds. Outrageous modernity or absurd traditionalism, our guns reach the target at each stroke, And gnosis, knowledge, mysteries and elites therefore carries the name of Eternal. Great kings, politicians, defenders of heaven are finally nothing but our stupid puppets. Excited proletarians and aggressive liberals live and die like a submitted crawling vermin. And when Mizaru, Kikazaru will attend to their childish war, We will be still there, lurking in the shadow, already working for the return of caste and the common law.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Ostentation and solemnity, so they wallow in the reign of envy. Brandishing the seal of all divinities incarnated, I think of a mutation of the famous past. Empty minds, please, show them the way! The embrace of their pain, shimmering frost of success and the name that no one wants to hear, turn them into avid followers. Under the veil of the ignorance, we envision the dawn of the future. Let their necrotic sun collapses, for our light shine. Ostentation and solemnity, to glimpse the reign of envy destroy wandering ghosts from old revolts. The embrace of their pain, the voluptuous kiss of our pride and the name that nobody wants to hear, force them to bow again. Empty minds, implode in eternal stupidity! Condensed atoms, reveal your hidden meanness! An infinite time, demolished by the error and they always want them without to know… For it is at every moment they fantasize about our lives. In the flood of your loving tears, I crunch your neck with sins flavor. And you’re imploring me again: please Lord, show me the path of idiocy!
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Fais moi face, comtemple ton oeuvre une dernière fois. C’est en toi que se déversent les encriers de ma haine. La parade des apparences ou le recueil d’une existence, L’amertume d’un passé dérobé se déchaine puis s’entremêle. Nous sommes l’infortune du temps qui passe. Les charognards d’une morale qui trépasse. Invoquons l’imposture comme unique pardon. Splendides funérailles aux portes de la rédemption. Je me repais de ta sinistre laideur, Au delà des abîmes sans fond. Je te vomis dans toute ta candeur, Par delà les cîmes moribondes. J’exècre le serment des hypocrites. Discordant et répugnant pacte d’immondices. Je me repais de ta sinistre candeur, Dans tes suffocantes supplications. Je te vomis dans toute ta laideur, Des entrailles aux milles tréfonds. La cécité du commun des mortels, La cupide spirale des tentations, Dans l’immense obscurité, demeurent éternelles, Tels d’inviolables et sempiternels mensonges… Fais moi face, contemple ton oeuvre une ultime fois. C’est en toi que se déversent les amphores de ma haine. Lorsque la vérité percera aux yeux de l’assemblée, Les belligérants aux regards d’agneau, Les dépravés aux masques communiaux, Revêtiront l’élégant apparat de la trahison.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
When the blindfold falls, the curtain parts, my eyes, as an automatic reflex, twist and bend. I guess then I see their faces made of shadows, their traumas, their souls and their cries. From ear to hearing, this is the clock of the world coming to destroy my dreams too often extensive. It sounds and chimes, celebrating my fall, shouting the realism of my dark unknown. A gag, racked with pain, flying to dust, and their words, now released, have the taste of acid. Distinctive bellowing and ancestral repressions in their throats that twist, crack and then empty. Where living lights emblaze, I am just a still-born king. When the lights explode, the clock screams to bleeding, the crowd, epileptic, curves in pressure. I then mocked and spit on their natural rights, their instincts of justice and anti-alienation. From thrill to orgasm, all of my senses are excited in contact with those hot bodies. As a last meal, I test the people, savor its delights and its stimulant clashes. An ultimate mass fire in crisis, I wouldn’t distinguish anymore the last gasps from my own agony. So here we are, gloomy tyrants or potential victims, witnessing and dying to the decline of our hypocrisies. Where livid lights emblaze, I am just a still-born God.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Once upon a time, in our burnt and desolated colony, the Wheel of Fortune suddenly shifted. A symbol of hate and ruin, that put us down on our knees. Mother justice is done and thanks to it, we are the army of surrendered golden thrones. Drowned in thousand tears of their fate, we can’t get back again. Crowned like phoenixes of the dark, enthroned in the light. We were subdued blackened hounds, in a world of glorious pride. Nine to ten, from Hermit to the Wheel, thy oblivion causes our lost: Torn by new libertarian needs, we were wild-eyed ants, scattered over a brand new land. Drowned in thousand tears of their fate, we can’t get back again. Crowned like phoenixes, like monarchs, enthroned in the light. We were subdued blackened hounds, in a world of awful crimes. C’est alors que, de grâce, nous nous rencontrâmes de nouveau. Tous avides de conquêtes, nous nous reformèrent en piètre troupeau. C’est ainsi que nous partîmes faire violence à tout ceux qui n’étaient pas des nôtres Et que j’aperçus le primate de l’ombre qui me fixait en silence…
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Through fire and chaos, cleaning was done. Desolation of the great space and tombs made of ruins. Silence was deafening when the void swallowed the souls. And we delighted in dust that drowned their deep wounds. Thus were born the fateful angels and the distressing guides. That’s why we witnessed the rebirth of the black procession. Of soiled drapes we covered them, them, chosen children, dark and smoky. Then the whip was agitated, clenching the kidneys of donkeys with gleaming horns. We saw that the wheels parted, the torture victims biting their cages. And this great « all » moving, wandering aimlessly to other landscapes. This is how we became austere passengers. That’s why we blessed the rebirth of the black procession. From paths to mountains, whores and vultures wreaked our instincts. Tensed delicate pleasures of vengeful massacres. The priests were deployed, harping on the vanity of this basic Hajj. Then the demons finally reached the sky of our tormented spirits. Thus the divine regained full power. That’s why we vomit the rebirth of black procession. From sovereign to princes, may God crown their heads. Little kings and great monarchs throned and dethroned. We prostrated in front of those of yesteryear that we had curse. And they blindfolded us, covered our ears and mouth. Thus Ouroboros tightened his embrace. That’s why our loss comes from the rebirth of black procession.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026