Harbinger
Come, ye piteous downtrodden cretins still pining fate as rotted phantoms- to keep your flesh and savor life denied, to reach a fresh and rancor night deprived
For I will open fated chains, release; a hallowed site of pain and death, unleash Present a torrent sent from fleeing souls- ascent from horrid pits and burning holes
A grave upon the land forever raised and bloodied cries to bring a reverent praise The soiled and broken ground is drowning fast in spoiled and crimson rivers flowing past
Decaying forms shall sever them alive as foolish mortals seek a place to hide In worship brought by wreaking morbid dread a throne I raise for thee atop the dead













