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1. Methodical Disfigurement

From the moment I was born I was deemed ineffectual.
Seconds pass as though years had come and gone
Though my mind is only tattered and torn.
Stricken of all logic, remorse seems nostalgic, the premise of revenge is
Yet no words can express, but my will to survive is innate.
For the soul for whom took thine innocence away.
From the greyness of my soul I cannot fall short that fate exists.
Intentions become necessity. Within a breath of insistence.
For only the cruellest of gods could foresee this torment.
Every breath could be the longest I would ever take.
I am lost in plain sight at the horrors of my past, though I resist temptation
to forgive.
My hands are as calloused. As my soul from the weight. Of the world. Within my
fists. [x2]
What benign existence, for whom is entitled to inherit?
And with these hands
I ll peel your flesh from their eyes.
As repayment from this agony
And what was left behind.
Disfigured sense of what I once despised.
Only to haunt me in my dreams are the fantasies of seeking vengeance.
To feel the torment I once felt, forced to mutilate their sense of humanity.
I will take your right to breathe. You once took that right from me.
By removing your lungs. And feeding them back to you. They seem like victims.
I was the one once victimized. Yet my actions are justified.
By the years spent with my veins bursting from my eyes.
But if I did not execute them, if I did not take their life.
I would seek forth the means by which so they are utterly dead inside.
Forcibly feed them the limbs and organs of their own children and wives.
Watch me slice open their loved ones and dine on them until I split my own
But all is not fictional within the confines of my own mind.
I often dream of the day when I could finally meet you face to face.
Your back was turned, your eyes were open wide.
My fingers intrude on upon both your sockets from behind.
With broken glass I ll carve my name into your gaping chest.

2. In Voluptate Mors

He wears their skin as robes on his own throne of abomination.
His sexual exploration transcends the morgue
Where his victims are destined to be.
Skinning his filthy lambs to satisfy his primordial needs.
To cover his flesh with that of human veil.
His frustration grows and so does his anger.
Into desperation he falls.
And into vanity asunder.
Throughout his breathless stare.
He caresses her delicate hide.
Bloated corpses litter the country side.
Leaving no trace of the killer's mark.
Their fleshless bodies turning a pale grey.
Left for days for the worms to feast.
In Voluptate Mors.
Clawing her way up the steep walls.
Of mud, brick and stone.
Only to find the fingernails.
Of those who remain unknown.
In the calm musings of his cracked teeth lies an undying malice.
And a serpent like tongue.
Slithering back and forth.
There lies In Voluptate Mors.
Beg. For your life.
You fucking cunt.
Beg. For your life.
Flowing rivers of flesh festers on his bones. Unashamed.
Lured into a false sense of security.
As if he were the innocent one.
Her bleeding heart reeks of disgust,
He can already taste her stench.
His eyes were wide and bloodshot.
Her life will cease upon the end

3. Enigmatic Consumption

4. Laberinto

5. Martyrium

6. Defilement

7. Ad Pondus Omnium

8. The Black Death

From the deaths of a million men
A child buried in the arms of his mother's grasp.
Decayed bodies piled up one by one.
Maggots devouring an emaciated carcass.
Starved the life from my flesh.
I neither have the strength nor will left.
In the dead of night it lurks in the shadows.
Among rats and filth, to quench its desires;
Carving up your flesh.
When you are dead with shame.
A thousand men will come for you.
As you fall into slumber.
Unbeknownst to the maggots.
They have already consumed your soul.
God doesn't pity this shadow of your former self.
To cleanse these bodies of this disease we must purge the filth with fire.
We offer our
Dead to a god that doesn't hear our prayers.
He selected by hand a million men and women.
The children were left to rot in the sun.
For the crows to take helping of their severed tongues.
Who do we blame for the death of a million men?
Decomposition rearing its ugly head upon the dead.
With withered hands I caress your lifeless face.
Behold the angels of the black plague.

Josh Reynolds ‒ Drums
Anthony Melbourne ‒ Vocals
Anthony Mar ‒ Bass
Armarin Saengsri ‒ Guitars
Tyrone Burke ‒ Guitars

Thanks to hefbe666 for sending these lyrics.

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