Night of the Desecration
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
As the knell dies away and petrichor scents the moonlit moors I find myself engulfed by faceless fiends with pointy tails The depths roar at their behest poetry written on the day of my death chanting a spell of scorn calling me to pray in my church of thorns Come… Kiss the thorns! Kiss the thorns! In this land I descent of shadows and unhallowed crypts to the fount where sorrows spring amidst a frenzied maypole of fiends Rats die in the talons of owls screeching hoots and hellish yowls there can be no redemption bring me the thorns for my damnation Satanas Venire! Diabolus Venire! Cypresses bow by the fury of the abyss winds as a Queen and a Bishop waltz… A dance of havoc in the shadow of the ripper’s scythe a mournful foreboding of doom ordained in death… In death…
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
November’s mist is a mournful garment dressing the old walls of cold stone The leaves of the trees have withered and fallen down to the cold ground of the churchyard Dim candlelight, feels warm but trembling pierces the darkness and reveals an orgy of shadows, nightmarish figures dancing upon the walls… Night of desecration… A celebration of gruesome darkness within a ring of blood and wine Dancing and skewing to a crippling rapture offering nails and thorns to the cross The elder female passes the chalice all shall drink the blood of Christ A paroxysm of screams from his statue behold the crucified… Night of desecration… And the Devil has heard the prayers we can sense Him from the court From the rainfall, from the mist, sounds the shriek of a sad violin. We join him out, into the cold and our hearts are burning with an eerie flame. Away from god, we’ll heed His word and dance with Him, a baneful dance He will teach the arts He will speak of wordless truths He will sense our morbid sorrows and ease our pain with haunting tunes from his violin Night of desecration…
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
I fall from Grace… Fear… Pain… Black fire eats the sky, a thousand angels die. I can see a Church, such a dark nameless place Marching on my own among graves of stone Death and decay, ruins, morbid sorrow Visions of the damned the Church calls to follow. Statues look forlorn, doves crucified Nothing in their eyes, emptiness of life that dies Monuments of an end macabre carved in stone I see silent as that faceless man hanging from a tree I’m fallen from Grace… Fear… Hate… A thousand angels died, grim October’s night Tears of woe, they drenched the cold earth as I withered crucified in shame Through the haunting fog echoes a raven’s crow Waters turn to blood there roses scream when they are drowned Lost in a court of dying hope where pain is King and fear is Pope I fail to cope, my mind is torn, I kiss the thorns I fornicate with daemons, they raped my soul My soul… Don’t pray for me, can’t be redeemed mute as foreseen, an outcast in sadness Don’t bleed for me, silent I’ll be I’ll be waiting for thee the monarch of silence I’ll be I’ll sail in oceans of sorrow until the black abyss takes my soul like Thee, Angel whose name, Satanas! Is but the last redemption from my doom. And as I fall, a vision makes me shudder in ecstatic fear… a flower a rose whose beauty I so long adored For as the vision clears and I see clearly among the clouds its beauty is grim… the flower rests on a cold tombstone. I cannot touch the flower when death begirds it. Vacancy… My Church of Thorns… My Church of Thorns…
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Oh marvelous star, oh crest of doom oh death and light abreast whose ruthless hammer crushed the world and crowned thy chosen blessed Who, in thy tears of anger shrouds with clouds the dome above and rainfall drowns the wretched lands wherein our spirits rove Who tears the quaking earth apart when angered shine thine eyes and then command the wrathful seas to shatter down the skies Who calls upon the beasts to roar their young with blood to wean when time draws near to sacrifice the Bishop of the Queen Thou, hidden sun that glares at night seizing my final breath A novel splendid cast of integrated light and death Who ’d tie the hangman’s noose or break the shackles of the slave libations made with chrism and blood upon the poet’s grave Who calls to us with tunes of flute when flowers bloom in Spring anointing us in silence when bitter wine we drink
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026