Ересиархи
This track is instrumental.
I leave the initial circle with sadness; I led the path in anguish and madness. Spitting the sentence from the mouth of dread, The king cometh, gifted with powers unseen and omnipresent. Up high lifteth he his finger pious, So hold the judgement in this abyss, oh Minos! “Gods, hear me! This word is the key”. “The living shall not enter my halls”. Upon my shoulders, a garrote snakes and crawls. Deus propitius esto mihi peccatori! I am the one who violated thy law with my heel And broke locks of the gates with His name. I am the one who walked over burning coals bare feet And tempered myself despite the flame. All light is mute, with a bellowing like the ocean Turbulent in a storm of warring winds, The hurricane of Hell in perpetual motion Sweeping the ravaged spirits as it tends Twists and torments them. Driven as if to land, They reach the ruin: groaning, tears, laments.
Submitted by MetalElf — Nov 11, 2025
The mountain range brings the shadow bleak, On the plateau sunk in the mist, The viands flow — a sinister feast That the world has never seen is at its peak. The cauldrons are boiling hotter and hotter, What are they brimming with, what kind of rotter? Guests in royal robes Devour their meals in loads, Birds’ bones are thrown to the ground; A swarm of hopeless shadows In service to all around Bring forth the food from the dark. Dog meat, a snake’s tail, The sea leviathans carcasses, Water with dirt, wine with blood The guests drink from full glasses. Bellies are full, but the hunger’s in bloom: They put raw entrails down their throat. Waves of stench and phlegm, streams of impurities bloat, And Behemoth reigns over them. Oh flame, burn and coil, fuse their bodies In one as a nasty lump to boil. Gnawing at turf and stone to the solid earth below, Down, to the core, to drink its sweetness in awe.
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Nov 11, 2025
The very gut of my secret itches, The melancholy overcame me and tamed. In the crypt of my own bedchamber The golden mountain spreads its riches. On the seven strong locks; I cannot lift my eyes to see the cross. In the darkness, only the coins’ whisper stuns. Neither do I keep candles, nor do I dress in the velvet robes and marble; I eat slop with my hands dirty, my garden is desolate. I sell my wife’s body to the sailors in harbour, I steal purses from strangers to my misfortune malevolent. Answer me, the universe: What is more beautiful and precious than treasures numerous? What for are these charming hills that spread far away and twine? And what for is this blooming meadow, where crimson sunsets shine? I do not like living in my gloomy body day by day; Boil, the wealth, in the furnace, taking the heat. By selling all the world’s happiness will I meet The unity with your beauty, and the nightmare will go away. By a bright river on the skin, to the hollows of the eyes, A stream runs, shining in this midnight hour; A piece of the black bone is charred, the flesh boils losing the power. The gold-handed one has been silenced, there are no cries.
Submitted by Pestilence — Nov 11, 2025
Evil herbs with burning leaves Tore up armour, melted our bones; Our spears made of oak and steel As if wild braids Chopped them off shearing the stems Of eerie blossoms’ spicy flesh; Poisonous sap of various kinds Bubbled up from their mighty vines. No, I am not destined to be of an old age, Let me just take one breath, Rage. Let the stone fist pave the way And break the dirty bastard’s nose with a punch; Let the weakling run away, Away from the battle of fire with his bitter grudge. For one moment, the centuries-old wrath Has subsided in my chest; Amidst the evil faces along the path I saw the goddess before me, blessed. And the sword has fallen through my now weak hands – A wanderer’s heart calls for a warm hearth on cozy lands. And over again The booze in the glass is burning, The blood boils, yearning, The burdens of wandering oppresses and drags you down now and then. My pain And my rage, oh goddess, Soothe and quiet it down I demand: I will sleep peacefully under your hand
Submitted by johnmansley — Nov 11, 2025
Why are you weeping before me? Smearing the floor with watery fear. We have not started yet, my hand remains On the trembling skin, shifting the chains. Respond me, you witch, Before the dawn light In a clean field during the night, Were not it you dancing around the fire? You sang on a mountain to us with others alike, Embracing and cherishing a black goat tight. “We are there, Where warm stars await; Where John the baptist welcomes in the waves. We are there, Where the grove’s shelter stutter; Where the fields are on fire in the zenith of summer; Amidst this bloom I Sing” Do not dissemble, keep silent and bear the ordeal. On the Bald Mountain, your Messire Leonard expects you - And you will pursue The road to him on the Catherine wheel. A hammer will crash your fragile crystal And the torturers will wrap it round the needles in an instant. There you will yell to ravens for hours Of your precious and treasured flowers.
Submitted by Infernal Flame — Nov 11, 2025
On the mossy cliff that sleeps above the boundless sea, In the light of the copper moon, under the mourning shadow of trees — Necropolis lurks, and there is a house of the tranquil dead. By the reign of the depths, The ones who got inside took communion of the silence’s wine In the haunted ruins’ halls and shrines. The pale light above the crowns of the trees Is spilling out from the windowpanes; A tangy mist breeze Shrouded the mound with incense ablaze. The choir calls upon with a tender song through the tracery of the impregnable gates It calls upon to come in, but the bolt is strong with the boiling poison of snakes —Their stone stare is frightening and bare. Humility and peace are behind this wall, And reveries dwell there, in each hole. The heart finds the charm in the oblivion of earthly longings In a dusky, cold shelter, away from all worldly belongings. The key to the necropolis right in front of me Was thrown over the cliff into the hungry maw of the depths’ sea, With a disembodied spirit rising above the tides Now and henceforth cursed to wail and wander alone In the haunted ruins’ halls and shrines.
Submitted by Dahmers Fridge — Nov 11, 2025
A step in the pit, A step in the abyss of filth. I am bathed and embraced with a tart stink Thrown to the dust I am trampled into the dust, off the cliff. I am crucified beneath the heavy footsteps amidst. “There is in Hell a vast and sloping ground called Malebolge, lost place of stone as black as the great cliff that seals it round Precisely in the center of that space there yawns a well extremely wide and deep. I shall discuss it in its proper place.” Down the shaky steps, away from the world, I will walk in oblivion untold. My soul is clad in a cape of gold, And within — there lies a heavy lead. Oh where can I hide from burdens and misadventures? I will enter the baptismal font among the mountains Let my feet burn with the fire of my transgressions, Let them burn for toil and troubles. Drunk to the gills With pitch and tar. “Malebolge, the path to redemption I ask you to bring, Lighter than Herion's wing!” Step Step Step A step down… An exodus of the age is coming, In the shroud of fire burning. Malebolge, the shadow of your caverns is bliss. Malebolge, put me to rest in the abyss!
Submitted by SerpentEve — Nov 11, 2025
Above the white town The marble tower hovers around; A bitter hymn of languor and exile Is sung by the mobs in praise of the tower. In the quiet, life and death hold a battle, And the stones are filled with cold. In the quiet, the soulless five rattle – Out of hunger, they wail and scratch the walls. The unfaithful nobility will rip off their masks; A quill and ink will sentence to slaughter in a grasp. Through the night, the pack will chase the wheezing wolf and its heirs, Wolf cubs of Ugolino, into the snares. Awaken before the dawn light, I saw the skies turn red And I heard with terror in this late hour In their feverish dreams, children of mine cried for bread; And their weeping will be concealed by the hungry tower. Will, be strong! When I was tearing my soul, I heard the humble words. Father, it will give us much less pain, If you ate us; it was you who put upon us This sorry flesh; now strip it off again. And I saw them fell one by one, Then, already blind I began to crawl From body to body, shaking them frantically. Two days I called their names, and they were dead, Then fasting overcame my grief and me. Oh God, save me from this dread!
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Nov 11, 2025