Look from the bliss faith once created, in an enigma of ominous inessece,
that which nest in thy soul, lest it burn with the first eclipse,
iniquitous vernal equinox; the xul knows many passages.
His sear of scorched life will not turn away, but vanquish deities once divine; even in autumnal slumber the choirs cease to sing of praise to a godless world.
Let he who hold no power be gone.
In rage of equinoctial storms --
tragedy unbeknowst to the weakest emotion --
abandon from thy self to serve an unseen being
for what have you come?
Queen of the weeping heavens, a detestable allure smolders beyond the fading meridian.
Moon rise on the boiling sea,
at one with the bleeding spirit before me.
