| Flocks of carrion, fat and foul, dispose of the dead, obey the mort
|
| Machinations falling in place
|
| Closer to my purpose
|
| His heartbeat rumbles through stone and moss, cascading fear upon my regiment
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| He can see through our eyes, yet he will not see his demise
|
| An ophidian god, its blood the cure for death
|
| One single drought from its veins bestows immortal breath
|
| Descend into the mouth of hell as one
|
| Granite turns to onyx, darker than a lifeless star
|
| The air is dense with sulphur
|
| The walls they pulse with life, an unknown blight stricken by darkness
|
| We wield thy kin as trophies to put fear in his heart, for it will be removed
|
| Enter his lair
|
| Cadavers decorate his vault, trophies of his own
|
| A hideous roar brings down earth and stone
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| Crushed and added to his collection
|
| A feverish nightmare cast in shadow
|
| Eyes glow with corruption
|
| Look into our minds
|
| Reflections of scorn
|
| Lurking beneath the earth, buried within these walls, confined and forgotten
|
| An ophidian god, it’s blood the cure for death
|
| One single drought from it’s veins bestows immortal breath
|
| Descend into the mouth of hell as one
|
| Granite turns to onyx, darker than a lifeless star
|
| The air is dense with sulphur
|
| The walls they pulse with life, an unknown blight stricken by darkness
|
| We wield thy kin as trophies to put fear in his heart, for it will be removed
|
| Yet he will not see his demise |