Ophis

Sick perverted deities Vain and irate Spitting on pride Kings of decay Mandatory self-denial Wallow in filth Like cattle, like pigs Bow to excrement Crawl at their feet To their amusement, sick with disease Their shining golden masks Conceal the putr

Dance blindly In the gleam of the broken lamp The crippled nature outside Is mocking your wretched being The only language left Is coughing and sobbing The scars on the wrist Keep on itching Once you heard about God An abstract story unimaginable Suc

Lower her down Into the cold embrace of the earth Chilling wind Tender and cold like herself Weeping grass The spade in my hand My Cold tears Could not melt the ice The frozen shape Around her soul Her ebon casket The white silk inside Close the lid