Chants to Maim Again

For no hope I seek, but the shroud of other dimensions. For not in the abyss I sink, but I laugh at my self-murder Treacherous warmth of your hands touch my asexuality And I would have torn up this contract for life before my birth, But I locked in the flesh doll which was given a name. You increase the grief, you are the window to the world of humans. I`ll gain my strength and spit upon the orifice with putrid blood. And fresh skin of a child will be dressed up in the dead clothes And a tombstone will begin to smell of a maternal milk. When a birth-mark is a seal of curse And metastasis is a foreshadowing of deliverance, I`ll cleanse my blood of thy leprosy Right now or even before the sweaty agony. So who you are, who you are? A shiver of saint name or a Babylon whore? When the yoke of a slave is male genitals And the figures of prison-keepers are crowned by wings, After having transcended the final tunnel And having attained the sulphur nature, I`ll howl in your ears every full moon. Among the souls downtrodden by curses, Among the holy men choked with rottenness. I will eternally growl at your body in the white bed sheet, motherwhore I will trample down your footprints and tears. Sepulchral howl of broken hearts Is only echoe of billions of screams of the newborn. There my footprints will leave salt, yours ones will leave mildew.

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 25, 2025

The water of enlightenment, tasted by none, Bedropped on the rames of cold solitariness. It didn`t touch their eyes, It didn`t touch their hands And even outworn by life, deadish rough feet. I was cursed by that water through the placenta of the subtle world. I see straight through your long ago faded words Behind the masks of the diligent, Behind the masks of those, who are the best in their regularity. Now I`m alone and I feel that my kin is closing in on me. Forty grey shadows behind my back Look askance at me and continue wandering away farther, Standing down for still alive prisoners. After having been separated from my body, My spirit will walk a lonely path. Could it be that I`m that first murderer, For you all have turned your backs upon me, Leaving my ethereal flesh eternally in solitude? Still I have to move further, stripping off The Odal runes from my skin. Untying the knots of the tight ropes of kin With my bleeding palms, where the skin is scratched off. Let you stand by, and watch, and postmortally feel the same Could it be an another you? Or just you without the former will And with the baggage of remained desires. Karma and Will. Karma and Will… It`s only Karma and Will… Karma against the Will of human item.

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 25, 2025

Wheel of Sansara under the stigma of ape, Lies of parent love is where I learnt to hate. Prenatal source of greed of a foetus. Sweet grimace of love – veiling of evil grin of an ape. Prenatal origin of kin spirits pressure Yes, this all is going to be this way… The threads of the prison called “earth existence” Sink deeply into the subtle world, The threads on long clutches of Elohim. The threads of an alien double-faced Moloch deity. Every thought of enlightenment, Every word of solitary and naked wisdom Are futile, when being fed to the rotten consciousness of ape human. For every concept of blessing is deeply besmeared With the dirty touch of a life cell, eternally feeding the apes. So searching for the truth is a way to eternal misery. But did I sign the contract to eternal existence in the subtle world? So, I have to go, the demons are beside, the candles are in my hand, The night dale is desolate. There I now go to tear up this contract. As hundreds of sorcerers ever lived, burnt Thousands of homeless and nagging ghosts. So, with the same words and under the same curse I also burn. Coming through the two deaths at a time. Salim, El, Sahar, Nav` and Prav` - go to the abyss. You are all just the two sides of the same coin, Just the same disguised essence of everlasting prison. No I shall gain my absolute Nothingness.

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 25, 2025

Touch of the winds of further bleak pictures of the future. And on our hands are set the marks of afterlife For the ones, stumbling in the levee of daylight. The ornate device of the Universe Is more clearly seen and percepted When the souls are being sewn by the threads And when those threads have to be cut off. Bleed, the breads Bleed, the soil Bleed, the feet. Heralds of naught, Heralds of flesh, Heralds of above and below, and in-between. Unexpected victims of lucid dreams, Encountering the seeping astral fog. Programming the future of the soul codes, Rupturing the hymen of the elemental gifts, Becoming an abyss between the waffs of their souls. Ready to leave the prints of the bleeding Slits of the bare foot in the graveyard soil. Begging a single sign from Death`s angel Among the swarm of the hundreds of hungry Crossroad spirits which are about to get unchained, But though fearing the ozone scent.

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 25, 2025

Tell me the fairytale about the wicked shepherd And leave me a book where Pilate Is ascending the moonlight ladder. Fragile beating of a soul frequency, Inevitable fading of the freed energy. Insence, word and soul impetus Will summon the slivers of the Darkness, gazing in the corners. Believers come, believers won`t notice, Believers die with the urge to know the naked truth, Although the only thing they are to gain Is the naked silence. When Tarot, pendulum and The deep midnight hiss in the ear lose, The steel needles of insight are always win, Slapping in the face with the deep down hidden Answers of the reality. Tell me the story about the dying girl with matches. And take away all the Larvae Of the cold grip of childish fears. Cold arrows of the answers of insight Are about to kill my flesh. Insence, word and soul impetus Will summon the slivers of the Darkness, gazing in the corners. Believers come, believers won`t notice, Believers dying with the urge to know the naked truth. Although the only thing they are to gain Is the naked silence.

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 25, 2025

Give it up, stop following me to the sycamore tree When betrayals icily wither solace. Turn on your heels and stop following me to the astral brink. So drop the key and forget the door. On the outskirts of astral, in the springs of the black water, Stone against stone, flesh against spirit. The science of forgetting, which many ones search, Is taken by none as a gift. But the only concept that the oblivion is a true gift Can not be taken there, As this may be understood by very few. Life strained against my throat with a rusty growl, Trampling upon love and every clean message. Child`s blood drained from the mirror of the eyes of a demon. And I would like to remember your name, But it`s me who broke all the roads to those memories. And I would have broken the glass door into the subtle world, And I would run there with no thought of return, Smelling the harsh odor of that long ago lost day. Among the myriads of crossroads, ours is the one That won`t cross the related paths anymore. Cold blood, cold senses in the breath Of the omnipresent earthly void. Though I still crave, calling out Toth`s name in the splits of astral. Trying to steal a glance in the Book of Life, Hearing as the bile of the newborn cries And the mocking pride of the foolish youth Transform into the deep deathbed curses of the old man. Stop following me to the sycamore tree…

Submitted by The Void — Apr 25, 2025

It`s a vagrant drug of brain. It`s a cold grimace of hope. And a smell of parental death in the cold corners. It`s a throbbing of solitude in the temples. But I thirst for your dose I sell months of my life to demons, Holding out hope to phase out the one I knew in the past life. We all are the addicts of a hormone, the puppets of Elohim. We search for the nausea erasing the ego like heroin does. So wreck the remains of my life, While I`ll be calmly watching the corpse of my ego. A daylight stalker of ruin, desiring to rape the pain A silent medium of all illusions A writer of belated drafts of life. Mockery of ghosts and gods And silent indifference of demons. The masks of a narcotic that straggles in brain, That activates whenever it wants, Yawning like abysses of the subtle world. Where the hope and the passion are only a forgery, An oxytocin ruse of Sansara`s conveyor. As if there you pray, you bow your knees Only before the tumbleweed in a desert. So I lead the alive funerals of unbelievers, I`ll chant with the dead at your weddings close to your ears.

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 25, 2025

Under the execution of the grey eyes of routine, I often forgot who I am, forgot my real essence. But every step of throes of rejection of all inborn anthropic, By a treacherous impulse of a diseased nerve, Returned on the road, trodden by the bloody footprints. I`m observing the evening carnival, Where every face of falsehood unmasks, Devitalizing the brain connectivity to the former human senses. In the restless flashes of fear, dehiscent portals of cold Entwine and stay as an everlasting sign. In the insomnia of soul and in the insomnia of flesh, Vomiting the blood of the last sobs of love. Mocking at sympathy, which often become rooted to itself. Stripping off the human skin, unclutching the snake pattern. I won`t forgive anyone, I won`t forgive myself. I will only breath with the beating of the below justness. I offer you ego in a pill, but I, on the contrary, laugh at it . And spit at its dollish face. You will never discover me, My day will never touch your day. I will obsess your body and slap your earth mother in the face four times. Feel my alpha and omega if you want to be free. But remember that an absolute freedom is an absolute solitude in a vacuum. One day my asexuality will cry oil through a human skin If there`s no more to wait for, then there I whisper one day.

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 25, 2025

Spilled mist in the midnight corners. Draughts are fluttering the curtains Draughts can talk. Steps, whispers, clatter and distant growls. Doppelganger of your mother in the next-door room Prayers in delirium, but after that Someone will choke you at night. The subtle world has opened a portal. The subtle world will crush the undeserving. And here is something that never was in flesh. Sudden smell of a soil and mildew, And here is something that once had flesh also. I need no other summoning – I dwell in the scent of distraction. The old sickness-ridden and the young rames are my food. Thickness of ape fear won`t allow you to insight into me. Sudden smell of a soil and mildew, And here is something that once had flesh also. The barrier is broken, the portal is open. Witching hour! O, hear my distant night chants. I have two toys – will and fear. I portray knot of winds in my fist and vanish in the nothingness.

Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 25, 2025

Lunatic eyes of grief will hide where the emptiness Will make a step into your door, with a weak, but deafening ringing. The knife of routine will divide your life into before and after. Neither a treacherous cold of a day, Nor a warmth of star-smelling night Can ever stop the annoying swinging of pendulum of desolation. Rejection. Escape from yourself until in the dreams You will fully realize that you go round in circles. Madding maelstrom of emotions Beats against the poverty of the earth life choice. Make a step towards me and I will read your mind. And, maybe, share a part of your anger. Rose of the Winds of thoughts and thought forms. Natal chart of billions of crossroads. Thoughtography of happiness and thoughtography of mourning. And enshrouds you with aether Nav` the Everlasting. Unite and fall! Unite and fall! Unite and fall! Did you ever come across the watery lunatic eyes of grief? Do you still remember the bitter scent of coming loss? And I would have never opened the cards of this Tarot If I hadn`t been cursed by the in between blessing. You know my heroine by the name. You catch the signs from this smithereens of Absolute. Talking, staring, seeping in the mist, Omnipresent great everlasting Nav`. Standing in the mirror, standing in the corner Hovering in the air, standing on the crossroads, summoning us.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 25, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?