Lyrics of Durch befleckte Berührung meiner Nemesis - Bethlehem

Durch befleckte Berührung meiner Nemesis (original)

Vielleicht, Unerwartet,
lie?
ein Skorpion jenes los
was man jetzt noch nicht wu?
te und gefiel sich als in Stein gemei?
eltes Blut
auf den Schwingen seines Hodens
Die vermeintlichen Grade deiner verschatzten Ohnmacht
umflie?
en gar zu verschamt den Gottrasierten Blick
in die rohe Dunkelheit eines verwaisten Pferdeauges
Eine zweite Schere erlangt Erlaubnis
uber funffache Trauer
und nicht gerade das Chaos
wirkt als Kluft
Denn wenn sich eine Flammenkreatur
in den selbstgewahlten Tod tanzt
Und dunkler Reigen
zu den hehren Klangen des Seraphs cilt,
verhallt der Gedanke an berstendes Treibgut
wie ein gekreuzigter Aal,
dessen Bildnis uber den Rand des Bewegten Abgrundes schreitet
Kein Lodern erreicht mich
und niemand ist bereits dort
Wo mein Tod mit dem Zerwurfnis
einer versklavten Wurzel liebaugelt
Kein Nagelschatten zerrei?
t in der Stille
Meiner unterwurfigen Heimkehr
Doch nur zu direkt setzt sich ein kurzes Gehenk
uber die verbrauchte Scham meiner dunklem Glut hinweg
Totgeglaubte Nachlassigkeit hetzt mit Vehemenz
durch die aschfahle Brut einer bratfertigen Liebe
Und der einst gerade Balken ist nun angewinkelt
Und tragt den Docht nicht mehr
Possibly, unexpected
Allowing a Scorpion that
Of what we still don’t know
And let it fall in sculptured blood
By the Swing of his scrotum
The Putatives Grade your pre-judging swoon
Overflowing bashfully to the view of a Shaved God
in the brutal Darkness of an abandonded Horse eye
A second Scissor obtains admission
over fivefolds of sorrow
and it wasn’t just the Chaos
knitted like clothes
Then when a flaming creature did it in the self-chosen dances of death
And the Darker ones lead
The Seraphs who hurriedly chase the sounds
To Keep back the thoughts of Bursting
A pissed Eel,
Whose effigy steps over the edge of the Abyss
No Flames reach me and no one is already there
Where my death Discords with
an Enslaved toy base
No Nail Shadows tears through the stillness
Of my submissive return home
Yet, only to Directly sit itself on a shorter sword belt
Over the consumed shame of my darken ardor
Death Believes negligence instigates with vehemence
across the pale ashes that broods a ready to fry Love
and the once straight beam is now bent
and strapped to the wick no more

(translation)

maybe unexpected
lie?
a scorpion that rid
what you don't know yet?
te and pleased as set in stone?
old blood
on the wings of his testicles
The supposed degrees of your estimated powerlessness
flow around
en even too bashful the god-shaved look
into the raw darkness of a deserted horse's eye
A second pair of scissors obtains permission
over fivefold mourning
and not exactly the chaos
acts as a gap
Because if there is a flame creature
dances to self-chosen death
And dark dance
to the sublime sounds of the seraph cilt,
the thought of bursting flotsam dies away
like a crucified eel,
whose portrait strides over the edge of the moving abyss
No blaze reaches me
and no one is already there
Where my death with the rift
toying with an enslaved root
No nail shadow tear?
t in silence
My submissive homecoming
But only too directly does a short go
over the spent shame of my dark glow
Negligence believed to be dead rushes with vehemence
through the ashen spawn of a ready-to-cook love
And the once straight beam is now angled
And wear the wick no more
Possibly, unexpectedly
Allowing a Scorpion that
Of what we still don't know
And let it fall in sculpted blood
By the swing of his scrotum
The Putatives Grade your pre-judging swoon
Overflowing bashfully to the view of a Shaved God
in the brutal darkness of an abandoned horse eye
A second Scissor obtains admission
over fivefolds of sorrow
and it wasn't just the chaos
knitted like clothes
Then when a flaming creature did it in the self-chosen dances of death
And the Darker ones lead
The Seraphs who hurriedly chase the sounds
To keep back the thoughts of bursting
A pissed Eel,
Whose effigy steps over the edge of the Abyss
No flames reach me and no one is already there
Where my death Discords with
an Enslaved toy base
No Nail Shadows tears through the stillness
Of my submissive return home
Yet, only to directly sit itself on a shorter sword belt
Over the consumed shame of my darkened ardor
Death Believes negligence instigates with vehemence
Across the pale ashes that broods a ready to fry Love
and the once straight beam is now bent
and strapped to the wick no more