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A Note From The Author
00:41
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In my tortured ears, sounds a nightmarish flapping,
and whirring, a faint distant baying, I hear it
It's not a dream, I fear, it's not even madness
For too much has happened to lend any doubt
St. John is mangled; a corpse torn asunder;
and such is my knowledge, that I must relate
Terror in the darkness, the bringer of dread, these
Impossible nightmares are filling my head, in the
Night-black abysses of my vacant soul, lurks a
horror unheard of, shapeless and cold
Silent and ceaseless, the howl in the night, like some
eldritch phantasm, I'm frozen with fright, and I
beg for escape from the beast in the gloom, but I
feel evermore that it brings me my doom
The folly, foreboding, of my monstrous fate is
enough that I'm driven to blow out my brains
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Weary and drained with the world that we knew
Barren, devoid, but our cravings increasing
Depth and diabolism of our exploits
Ennui-driven to robbing the dead
Human outrage of abhorrent extreme;
our detestable course; our insatiable need
Deep in the earth lay our nameless museum
adorned with the tomb loot of unhallowed graves
Demons of onyx and red charnel hangings
profusion of corpses, there rotting away
Nighttime excursions exquisite and pure,
under the moonlight indulgently feasting
Ghoulishly vulgar ecstatic, a thrill
contrasting, now with my haunting and dread
St. John, the leader, and I with the spade
Nightmarish graveyard I wish them away!
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Here, in this churchyard - dark rumour, and Legend
Buried five centuries, this ghoul's sepulchre
I can recall in these last earthly moments
The scene of the moonlight dancing on gravestones
Horrible shadows, grotesque and decrepit
The looming of arbour; desmondus rotundus
Pervasive, disquiet - It haunts me, the baying
Still we break the soil; Our delving addiction
Iron meets wood, moulder, decay
five hundred years has our quarry contained
Oh, had I known the price of sanity,
that grinning corpse, and our depravity
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Isolation, trapped in cold
Sanctuary, 'neath the mold
I can not sleep, restless mind - weak
Sounds and dark shapes; something haunting me
Ancient stories tell of a fiend
soul embodied in our stolen piece
What have I done?
Repent my sins!
Screams reached the house!
Blood and torn flesh!
Blood and torn flesh!
Bringer of death!
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Fearing my solitude, flight overtook me
My home now a ruin, our secrets secure
The shadow pursues me from London to lowlands
a curse like a plague, without cure or respite
Damn this jade amulet, St. John was right!
Terror, of the rabble
Terror, of the people
Terror, but a fraction
That which, will befall me!
Red death in the thieves den
Red death in the thieves den
All hope is gone, salvation lost
Terror of the rabble
Terror of the people
Terror but a fraction
That which, will befall me!
All night, above drunken voices and clamour
insistent, the baying that drives me to dread
What choice is mine now, but madness or death?
Can lead bring me solace, at peace in my head?
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So at last I stood again
moonlit winter churchyard
frosty grass and cracking slabs
night-wind howling maniacally
Why else go there except to pray?
Insane pleas and apologies
Calm white thing that lay beneath
Desperation compelling me
Lies lead me here, must repent
Lies, so austere, my descent
Death hangs so near,Take me
Crouched within this despoiled tomb
mockery of impending doom
bony stranger that we defiled
ensanguined fangs, yawning twistedly
I merely screamed
I must flee
Dissolving
Madness
Lies lead me here, must repent
Lies, so austere.
My descent
hangs so near
Take me now!
Claws and teeth,
Death finds me
Oblivion, I
shall seek
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The Corporate Life Clarington, Ontario
Rantings on sociopolitical subjects, set to loud guitars and percussion. We manage to squeeze into a few genre categories, as listed somewhere else.
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