In his ignorant hunger, waxing in darkness The demiurge looked upward To behold the pearl-lit mistress And he followed her Into the blackness of his soul Blood is her tribute Life is her harvest Veni Qayin ben Samael And so we girdle ourselves With the snake skins of wisdom To Death's head true! Under the signs of the moon we gather Thou shalt be an initiate of the holy things Thou shalt rise from death's sleep Carrion falls under the weight of his sickle Our harvest is complete Jus augurate! Lengthy shadows fill with serpents coiled None but the chosen ones shall stand before the Lord of Death! Salutations, crossed arms and clinched fists High on his hill Grounds of demise, under cypress trees Following the northern wind of souls Where Saturn coincides There is mastery in death And lies in the light Beauty in plague Worship of death Madness transfixed to glory A birth-rite, born of Fire Not of clay, the lowly races of Adam Eating from the spoiled rotten harvest Follow us not (the faint of heart) We are the bacteria simmering in secrecy The children of the night We gather beyond shallow graves To Death's head true!