Belfegor - The Work Of Destruction
The work of destructionHas evolved from the seed of my hatredPoison has penetrated all of human lifeInto each deed, each thoughtEach dream and desireThe mind of the world, sick and slowSepareted from itselfThe day is dark, the noon is coldThe mind slips into deliriumNever to departThe demonic webs of sufferingEach tree standingCarries a dozen of veilsWhen they grow togetherThe web becomes a whitened roofAnd covers a labyrinth beneathWhere forests stood before in patienceNow there are fields of naked trunks and branchesDressed in the garland of the webAfterwards, there are only dry shardsThen, there is only grey swampDemonsTheir bodies blacker than the deepest shadowsShine with the reflected lightThe shapelessness of chaos of primeval fireLike large jewels of the giantsThe work of destruction has storm-slashed cloudsNow they are raining bloodSuffering breeds uncontrolled fearAnd envelops all in the cool, life-safe darkness
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