The Cold Earth Slept Below...
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
Wrath! Uh! Wrath satanic Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath - Satanic feel Demonic feel! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath!! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath of war! Wrath! Wrath of war! Wrath! Wrath of war!! Wrath! Wrath of war!! Wrath! Wrath of war!!
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Feb 06, 2026
The fields from Islington to Marlybone, To Primrose Hill and Saint John’s Wood: Were buried over with pillars of gold, And there Jerusalem’s pillars stood. Her Little-ones ran on the fields The Lamb of God among them seen And fair Jerusalem his Bride: Among the little meadows green. Pancrass & Kentish-town repose Among her golden pillars high: Among her golden arches which Shine upon the starry sky. The Jews-harp-house & the Green Man; The Ponds where Boys to bathe delight: The fields of Cows by Willans farm: Shine in Jerusalems pleasant sight. She walks upon our meadows green: The Lamb of God walks by her side: And every English Child is seen, Children of Jerusalem & his Bride
Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 24, 2025
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
Reign on the corpse of war! Reign on the corpse of war! Reign on the corpse of funeral! Reign on the corpse of funeral! Rise Sathanas! Reign on the corpse of war! Reign on the corpse of war! Reign on the corpse of funeral! Reign on the corpse of funeral! Reign! (Reign!) Reign! (Reign!) Reign! Reign over death! Reign! Reign... Reign... Of war! Ah! Reign on the corpsе of war... Reign on the corpse of war... Rеign on the corpse of war... Reign on the corpse of war... Reign on the corpse of funeral... Reign on the corpse of funeral... Rise Sathanas! Uh... Reign... Reign on the corpse of war... Reign on the corpse of war... Reign on the corpse of war... Reign on the corpse of war...
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Feb 06, 2026
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
I travelled through a land of men, A land of men and women too, And heard and saw such dreadful things As cold earth wanderers never knew. For there the babe is born in joy That was begotten in dire woe, Just as we reap in joy the fruit Which we in bitter tears did sow; And if the babe is born a boy He’s given to a woman old, Who nails him down upon a rock, Catches his shrieks in cups of gold. She binds iron thorns around his head, And pierces both his hands and feet, And cuts his heart out of his side To make it feel both cold & heat. Her fingers number every nerve Just as a miser counts his gold; She lives upon his shrieks and cries— And she grows young as he grows old, Till he becomes a bleeding youth And she becomes a virgin bright; Then he rends up his manacles And pins her down for his delight. He plants himself in all her nerves Just as a husbandman his mould, And she bcomes his dwelling-place And garden, frutiful seventyfold. An aged shadow soon he fades, Wandering round and earthly cot, Full filled all with gems and gold Which he by industry had got. And these are the gems of the human soul: The rubies and pearls of a lovesick eye, The countless gold of an aching heart, The martyr’s groan, and the lover’s sigh. They are his meat, they are his drink: He feeds the beggar and the poor And the wayfaring traveller; For ever open is his door. His grief is their eternal joy, They make the roofs and walls to ring— Till from the fire on the hearth Alittle female babe does spring! And she is all of solid fire And gems and gold, that none his hand Dares stretch to touch her baby form, Or wrap her in his swaddling-band. But she comes to the man she loves, If young or old, or rich or poor; They soon drive out the aged host, A beggar at another’s door. He wanders weeping far away Until some other take him in; Oft blind and age-bent, sore distressed, Until he can a maiden win. And to allay his freezing age The poor man takes her in his arms: The cottage fades before his sight, The garden and its lovely charms; The guests are scattered through the land (For the eye altering, alters all); The senses roll themselves in fear, And the flat earth becomes a ball, The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away— A desert vast without a bound, And nothing left to eat or drink And a dark desert all around. The honey of her infant lips, The bread and wine of her sweet smile, The wild game of her roving eye Does him to infancy beguile. For as he eats and drinks he grows Younger and younger every day; And on the desert wild they both Wander in terror and dismay. Like the wild stag she flees away; Her fear plants many a thicket wild, While he pursues her night and day, By various arts of love beguiled. By various arts of love and hate, Till the wide desert planted o’er With labyrinths of wayward love, Where roams the lion, wolf and boar, Till he becomes a wayward babe And she a weeping woman old. Then many a lover wanders here, The sun and stars are nearer rolled, The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy To all who in the desert roam, Till many a city there is built, And many a pleasant shepherd’s home. But when they find the frowning babe Terror strikes through the region wide; They cry, ‘The Babe! the Babe is born!’ And flee away on every side. For who dare touch the frowning form His arm is withered to its root, Lions, boars, wolves, all howling flee And every tree does shed its fruit; And none can touch that frowning form, Except it be a woman old; She nails him down upon the rock, And all is done as I have told
Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 24, 2025