When the moon becomes a mass for the pentagram,
The rage will swell as night grows bright.
And it will search for those to brave
And master the art of bleeding out.
This horrid fiend of the black would sever
The wings of angels and then save souls.
Hunger will call on the night, Tricking the gods.
My breath, my eye, my air are yours to form into
The shape and the scream . . .
When the moon incants it’s oath to an ancient law,
The end of man will be his fright.
And even death will cling to this master
Whose stench brings nightmares to the blind.
And the scream of the moon elect.
Darkness will feed in their eyes
As scream becomes their song.
Darkness will feed in their eyes,
In the night they’re beyond the fatal.
Darkness will feed in their eyes
As scream becomes their song.
Darkness will feed in their eyes
In the night they’re beyond the fatal.
Hunger will call on the night, Tricking the gods.
My breath, my eye, my air are yours.
I’m formless now.
Run, run with you dusk before it is ravaged
And torn from beneath you.
Curse, this curse of the star
Feasting on mortals and tricking the gods.
When the moon becomes a mass
For the pentagram,
The rage will swell as night grows bright.
And it will search for those to brave
And master the art of bleeding out.
This horrid fiend of the black would sever
The wings of angels and your soul.
When hunger calls on the night
Your fatal flesh will be too torn for eyes.
Darkness will feed in their eyes
As scream becomes their song.
Darkness will feed in their eyes,
In the night they’re beyond the fatal.
Darkness will feed in their eyes
As scream becomes their song.
Darkness will feed in their eyes
In the night they’re beyond the fatal.
