Day Of Wine And Thorns Lyrics

"What matter the victims, provided the gesture is beautiful?

What matters the death of vague human beings,

If thereby the individual affirms himself?"

[Laurent Tailhade]

The black Idol emerges as a silver lining in a dust cloud of death,

Eerie parallel tongues and the piping of heaven

The culture of transgression is mine and my descent

Makes me ascend in a repugnant swirl:

Sic volo,

Sic jubeo,

Stat pro ratione voluntas

The black Idol fills the veil of flesh with noxious smoke,

Depicting primal human experiences indifferently,

Contemptuous of moral concerns, dehumanized

The howling of wolves and the destructive sword are portions of Eternity,

Too great for the eyes of merely a man:

Transcendence of thresholds occurs with violence

And will for Vice is like the mind's dark radiance

Which blinds and of which I'm dying

Corruption is the spiritual cancer reigning in the depths of things

And it fills until the last cell of my vivid being

Dissolution and putrefaction, prevailing Aesthetic experience,

The splendor of the obscene and inhuman;

For what matters the death of a vague human beings

If thereby the individual affirms himself?Malicious Secrets - Day Of Wine And Thorns - http://motolyrics.com/malicious-secrets/day-of-wine-and-thorns-lyrics.html

Violence exists I the moment when the eye turns upwards into the head,

When inversion is complete and total

The darkness of the upturned eye is not the absence of light

But the process of seeing being taken to it's limit

That thorough derangement of the senses,

Way beyond the deceptive conflict between darkness and light

Opens perceptions to the tyranny of the Chekhinah:

Si non credideritis,

Non inteligetis

The dimension of ethereal totalitarianism discloses itself

And takes possession of the quintessential human soul

Like a nail hammered through most tender flesh

Aeons separate the one whose eyes have seen through the night of the spirit

The king, the Lord of hosts, draped in terrifying magnificence

From the gleaming clot of trembling vermin

If a faith and a belief aren't nurtured by the moist of blood

They do not grow, nor do they live

It is at the magnitude of daily murders, massacres and mass graves

That we do measure the propagation of our faith

Hearken and recognize, that hideous carrion

Legs in the air, like a whore - displayed, indifferent to the last

A belly slick with lethal sweat and swollen with foul gas:

This is you, nourishing

The grand Mass Grave Aesthetics!