The Rise of the Heraldic Beasts
Kill! Burn! Waste the wenches! Hark the herald! The King wants blood! Hark the herald, the war drums beating. Hark the call, the call to arms! Sally forth, and no retreating. Saddle thy horse, raise the alarm! The king hath decreed, us knights do battle, for the honour, of his fair queen. Now we ride, to meet the brutes on their own ground. Mace,steel and lance, has vengeance found Kill! Burn! Waste the wenches! Hark the herald! The King wants blood! Deep entrenched, Lord Asquith is hiding, in his fort, portcullis is down. Lay siege will we, and yield will he, to declare the innocence, of our queen (the whore!) Kill! Burn! Waste the wenches! Hark the herald! The King wants blood! Women crying. Witches scrying. Banners flying. Knights dying!
Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 26, 2025
Hey! Calling on all heraldic beasts! Hey! Hippogriff! When mare and griffin meet and mate, their offspring share a curious fate; One half is horse with hooves and tail the rest is eagle - claws and nail. And as a horse it likes to graze in summer meadows - dowsed in haze. Yet as an eagle it can fly above the clouds where dreams drift by. With such a beast I am enthralled the Hippogriff no less, this beast is called. This cross-breed is but one of many, when on our shields we'll conquer any! Hey! Calling on all heraldic beasts! Hey! Cockatrice! As dragon and rooster do come as one, a birth is given to an unruly son. With the head of his father and body of scales, t'is oft confused with the dragon of Wales. Hatched from an egg by the King of Toads, if caught in its gaze, the beholder explodes! As rooster he crows the new day's beginning, as a dragon he roasts those guilty of sinning. This cockatrice surely belongs in hell, and on his greet best make farewell. But raised in the crypts Jaldaboath did tame, does attend his master with a call of his name. Hey! Calling on all heraldic beasts! Hey! Calling on all heraldic beasts! Lion, Wyvern, Cockatrice; Calling on all heraldic beasts. Griffin, Dragon, Unicorn; Calling all to the banners adorn. Hey! Calling on all heraldic beasts!
Submitted by Sexy Gargoyle — Apr 26, 2025
Oh Yes! The toll bridge was closed, south of the town. My kinsmen were barred, even though I wore a crown. When I asked for a reason, we were told to be submit. T'was on the order of the bishop, of Cicestransis. Extremely vexed were we, at this outrages affront. It crossed my mind the bishop, was probably a c*nt. We rallied our men from pillaging, and plowing up the farms. Blast the trumpets loudly, a call to their arms Bash the bishop, in his head. Bash, bash, until he's dead We stormed to the cathedral, but he was not to be found. A nun we spared the truncheon, claimed he'd gone to ground. The earthly smell around us, confirmed these words as true. I swore I'd throttle his little neck, until his mitre be blue We chased him to his cloisters, where we found the host had fled, leaving sixteen strappled strumpets, weeping in his bed. The choir boy complained, about the "Pagan things" he'd done. We chased into the night, to finish what we'd begun Bash the bishop, in his head. Bash, bash, until he's dead Bash! Smash! Crash! Dash! Bash! Smash! Crash! Saddle up! We finally caught the miscreant, by following the stench. He'd been living north of Saddlescoombe, which a rather buxom wench. We pled for him, to take his punishment like a man, but instead he fled to Fulhingm sulken tears into his hand Bash bash bash! Bash bash bash! Until he's dead
Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 26, 2025
Percival! Hark the call! Venture forth! Seek the grail! Travel wide! Seek the land, of the king, who was wounded! Seek the Grail! Seek the Grail! Seek the Grail! Seek the Grail! Sir Percival, seek the bleeding lance, and mend the broken sword. Look for the isle of Avalon, and seek the wounded king, and heal the wasted land It takes more than strength, you need, pure heart, to recover what was lost Persevere learnest thee. What is the secret, of the grail? Land and King, heal as one! Sharpen why wits, and bleed thy heart, for the question shall be asked. Thy quest doth not bring happiness, but the land shall surely die unless, The Holy Grail is found It takes more than strength, you need, pure heart, to recover what was lost Percival! Hark the call! Venture forth! Seek the grail! Travel wide! Seek the land, of the king, who was wounded! Seek the Grail! Seek the Grail! Seek the Grail! Seek the Grail!
Axe Wielding Nuns Axe Wielding Nuns A battle weary knight sometimes needs a rest to place his heavy head on a wench's breast where the horse is well kept and his sword well oiled his undergarments washed when they've been soiled There is near Bagger Bridge such a place to bring a smile to a knight's long face to veer off a battle my stallion runs to the convents of Axe Wielding Nuns Axe Wielding Nuns Axe Wielding Hell hath no fury like the Axe Wielding Nuns like a fire branded crucifix between the buns Mother superior doth speak with grace but if needs must she can handle her mace the art of fighting is a solemn vow thousands are certain common know how They're gracious[?] interluder for they're chance to fight for the glory of battle and a hot steamy knight for another chance when they are able to wield the double headed axe and the blazing shield Axe Wielding Nuns Axe Wielding Hell hath no fury like the Axe Wielding Nuns like a fire branded crucifix between the buns Axe Wielding Nuns Axe Wielding Nuns Axe Wielding Nuns Axe Wielding Nuns When we ride out to meet our foes a little surprise keeps them on their toes for following behind is a garrison of nuns some heavily pregnant with bastard sons they swing their axes with gusto and might 'tis oft our enemy doth get affright at the sight of somersaulting nuns at arms axes in hand and cleaving fucking skulls Axe Wielding Nuns ... [x10]
Submitted by NecroLord — Apr 26, 2025
If your castle needs defending, just call Jaldaboath. If your catapult needs a-mending, Just call Jaldaboath. They’ll make you dance, the merry Jig Of Death, dark minstrel’s melodies. Writing secret script, from behind a crypt. Jaldaboath! For protection of your sires, Just call Jaldaboath. For your wenches’ dark desires, Just call Jaldaboath. Whistlers in the castle, blow a haunting melody, writing secret script, from behind a crypt. Jaldaboath! They say they are the best, to where a chain mail vest. The victories they’ve won, are renowned. These knights can’t be beat, they’re strangers to defeat. By no orders of the wyvern, are they bound. If your dragon needs a-slaying, just call Jaldaboath. If your minions aren’t obeying, Just call Jaldaboath. When the Dark Ages get too much, and there’s no hope to be found, writing secret script, from behind a crypt. Jaldaboath!
Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 26, 2025
Riding Hell's barren wastes, on my steed, this host of monsters are my creed, and in battle, we shall bleed. Bring me the head of Metatron! We tally for the cup of Christ, The Holy Grail, in my battle armour, and chain mail. When the wind blows, we shall set sail Bring me the head of Metatron! Where does he dwell? No one can tell, but it’s north of the citadel of Londinium. Grand master of lies, dispatching his spies, south to the Castle of Rhydian North we shall ride, steel at my side, an order from the Knights of Malta. Too long he has sat, on his throne of mockery. When we meet, there shall be slaughter! Bring me the the head of Metatron Now!
Submitted by Nargaroth — Apr 26, 2025
"...I made the contrary declaration only to suspend the excessive pains of torture, and to mollify those who made me endure them..." Grand Master - 33rd degree, did take to the grave his masonry, He left his mark on the Turin shroud, but was burnt alive for the parisian crowd Denied the christ, trampled the cross, rode to jerusalem on his horse. At the stake, he renounced his lies - the smoke left hanging in the skies Jacques De Molay! Thou art avenged Jacques De Molay! For tis friday the 13th today. The royal blood they did chasten, for the execution of this mason Jacques De Molay! "...The life offered me on such infamous terms, I abandon without regret..." They buried the mighty heretics, these Templars with their magic tricks. But fire's freedom laughed the last, and echoes loudly from the past.
Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025
This track is instrumental.
More than simple superstition, the blood-line survived the crucifixion The hospitaler knights of St Jogn, they hid the secret holy spawn Da Vinci left a hidden trail to holy blood and holy grail The christ indeed had kith and kin Born from the womb of Magdelene Initiate of illumination, Da Vinci left the clues Of christ's secret blood-relation, the royalty of the jews Da Vinci left a hidden trail to holy blood and holy grail The christ indeed had kith and kin Born from the womb of Magdelene The truth threatens the Roman cult, so the pontiffs hid the youth Only adepts of all things occult come close to find the truth...
Submitted by Warbringer — Apr 26, 2025