Queen of night, imbibe my soul; This wretched flesh loosens its hold. Feed your spite, my life is sold. My death reflects the truth you've told: “Wrath be brought across the way from traitors made to separate; Lasting, wrought of crosses made to drape their face upon a grave.” I come to know regret as I start to grow cold; In throes, my eyes are misted as the trees. Matron of blackness, please be swift as you take hold, I hope my nourished mistress has been pleased. “Wretch beneath my broken wings, I will find my strength and raze the skies with their beating. Step beneath the shadow cast, kneel and write the page; open my eyes, now, and free me.” In eager obedience, carefully I shape symbols which call forth the night, haunted by masochists, forever in wait to ruin their minds through prying eyes. Morning crawls, now, toward a grave absconded in the rift; the ash of its memory enshrouded by my gift. The putrid stench of resurrected hatred wrapped in skin Inflicted on the aarth again whence her soul was adrift. I reap the fruit of her poisonous truth, and feel the blood run down my chin. I rape the land that its life may be hence cast to a place I cannot live. “Go forth and speak my name, mark who falls in place and paint the walls with the others. Stoke the fires that burn away all that may maintain the memories of their brothers.” In deepest devotion, I will stake my claim at the right hand of my mother. She, spiller of blood oceans, the wraith Of long subdued hate, rediscovered. Mourning calls, now; behold the slaughter wreaked by my own hands, the last of my brethren are strewn about the land, convinced of their safety until darkness advanced. The hubris of the pious goaded countless other damned. I've taken heed of the virulent greed demonstrated by your gods. Soon, I will speak as the mouth of the queen is concealed within the fog. Queen of night, imbibe my soul; this wretched flesh loosens its hold. Feed your spite, my life is sold. My death reflects the truth you've told: “Wrath be brought across the way from traitors made to separate; lasting, wrought of crosses made to drape their face upon a grave.”

Feral men now emerge from their places of refuge in the sunken trees, forests submerged in the wake of the pall of blood from which they drink. The threads of flesh are unraveled as spines elongate in their backs, Towering simulacra of forgotten magic rendered black.  They tread in holy waters, sanctified by priests slain in their tracks, Devoured by the long-dead darkness we have summoned back. The infidels' insincere tributes taint the ground with their disease, And the blood moon's kiss acquiesces the wolves to emerge for all to see. Supine, the divine have crumbled swiftly under threat of death, Their ashes swallowed by the very waters they have blessed. New fangs erupt from the jaws of those condemned by my queen To straddle the line between the worlds of man and beast. Serrated grins seek, now, the unborn children of the east, a tribute to the morning star which illuminates each soldier's teeth. The light will not suffice to guide us to our feast, We require sacrifice that we may follow trails they bleed. Moonlight on darkest shores, Let none escape your touch. Guide us to our reward, Have those in our path crushed. We'll draw up baths of gore from all who stand to slow our rush. The onslaught of the wargs will cease when does the hunt. We stride beneath black wings, Sky split o'er red seas joined, Consuming everything that brings corrupt souls joy. The chaos that we bring tempts growth in stagnant voids and while your church bells ring, Your flesh we will enjoy. Howling erupts above the churning of the sea of blood. Beyond the walls we penetrate, trembling fathers hold their sons. Their breaths have crept over the safety of their barriers, Exciting lycanthropic masses as the sound reaches their ears. Iron and silver meet with teeth born of the dark, child and man spilled in the soil with each new mark. I fear this hunger may forever weigh within my heart as this perverse new breed of which I'm now a part.

As the young for which we've come are relieved of consciousness, we surround the sacred grounds upon which they are laid to rest. All eyes are peeled for the rise and fall of chests, all ears forever longing for the sound of their last breath. At long last, sanguine tides flow forth from the pile of dead, and the fast that my brothers have endured is at an end. Before we lap the nectar of this score of heretics, our queen descends to us and bows to take the first sips. I marvel at the ruination we inflict and revel in the stillness which, on this world, we imprint. Life then birthed of death, risen carcasses. Their blood steeps pure dark in the belly of our matron, trapping their souls within a cage of purest hatred. Their cries are swallowed as the spell's regurgitated, inspired tongues withering more the desecrated. The corpses wrench with their faculties invaded as roots of black take hold in their souls' former spaces. With the last features blotted from their frozen faces, I can't help wonder when I'll learn what my own fate is.

Herald of the new gospel, The blood moon rises high; illuminates our ritual, blesses our sacrifice. Between the poles of nations plundered and the holy lands, we feel our grip constricting the living more every day. I'll suffer my soul to rest within the overtaker's hands, so long as I have nothing more to gain. Each child a new delicacy, I learn of hunger's meaning. Torn between meat and my feelings, I spurn my duality. Force-fed reality, Beckoned by my primal instincts. I succumb to every feast, I feed to no relief. Gluttons, every one of us, who've never had our fill; proud new brutes, so murderous, not knowing what it means to kill. Between the shores of loyalty in this river of most profane desires, a lawless waltz between the stepping stones is forced by the current's ire. Faded is the path that delivers me from the undertow's pry, yet the savage wrath I wish to inflict has, thus far, kept me dry. Herald of the new gospel, The blood moon rises high; illuminates our ritual, blesses our sacrifice. I've grown weary of the spill of blood drained out of spite. There's always more to kill that I may keep my life.

Plague is exhaled across the land upon the breath of the dowager of hatred's prince, our maiden of death. We kneel in prayer, welcome corruption promised to us; pawns exhausted, usefulness outlived as they're withered to husks. A shell is left behind to host the government of a new mind and I observe the blight, The twisting of faces once frozen in time. Her will permeates the faculties of the swarm of carcasses, unholy grave birth conceived by her heartlessness. The earth trembles beneath the march of countless corpses, and for the first time since my indoctrination, I'm no longer remorseless. Within the penumbra of the mass of her loyal dead, I'm left only to ensure my queen is fed. As I pluck the most succulent organs from each child possessed, I am once more enticed by a primal blood thirst known by my brethren. As our mother is sated, we await her command with heaving chests; And as it's offered, we find relief as our yearning jaws connect. As our hunger's satisfied, a primitive urge remains. With undead soldiers ruined in light of our banquet, My lupine brothers seek new sources to penetrate, turning on one another with serrated cocks erect. In the frenzy of our carnal endeavors, incestuous fights for pleasure, Many suffocate beneath the pressure of the pile of our pack's members. As they lose consciousness beneath the thrusts under which they're fettered, the pulse continues until the final orgasm is rendered. As our desire is quenched, We hunger once again. Amid the mound of friends, teeth sink into our dead. With no trace of them left, we walk with palpitated steps to reaches never met, towards a final rest. Our matron's indifference as we writhe beneath her feet Remains unrecognized with each ingestion of mulcted meat. As long as corpses fall, we pledge our loyalty and seek comfort in the path guided by our dark queen.

“Arise, all vessels which still require rest, Your mortality's a burden I've grown to regret. While you slept, the undead silently, bravely continued to tread. Swift domination is what I expect if we are to raze all the diocese. My satisfaction rests on severed heads served to me with their communion bread.” “Status Civitatis Vaticanæ, Upon you we will prey; Daemon irrepit allicit cor, And you will see my power restored.” As tendrils of a grim and unfamiliar will take hold now where once my own mind was still, I'm beckoned to march until I've made my kill guided by the stench of the deserter's wilt. The petals of their life and triumph are spilt one at a time, rose slowly unbuilt, And the soil saturated with their rotting filth gives way to footsteps under stomachs now filled. Breathe in the haze, stomach the fetor of air so rife with our brethren's decay, The matriarch's hate embraced as our leader. The pack marches beneath the film of black cast by the Night Mother as she stretches across the sky, the blood moon's light sieved from her. She encroaches on the rivers sanctified by those long dead, and they boil and they dry up in light of the presence of she who exhales death. “Status Civitatis Vaticanæ, Upon you we will prey; Daemon irrepit allicit cor, And you will see my power restored.” With ravenous hunger I am now consumed, such vigor unknown 'til the rise of this moon. With old gods now entombed, we will be kings as our queen is groomed. With all that our doctrine demands we rebuke, I yearn for the priests and those they've abused. Their heads will be brought if so my queen may choose, and I will bear witness to their doom. “Status Civitatis Vaticanæ, Upon you we will prey; Daemon irrepit allicit cor, And you will see my power restored.”

Rain beat upon the parade of soulless drones Through whom all that is profane would be restored; While the pious slept secure in their tithe-funded thrones, We sang the spells of life through death as the queen rescored. With blights visited upon the holy land for which we would atone, We rendered death upon the congregations, feasting as they mourned. We carved the ciphers of our ruination Upon the bones of traitors to our nation. We fixed the eye of our own people's hatred Upon the ones by whom our gospel's abated. “Birthed of the womb of a wraith this world is entombed in a dream. Your withered mind can't separate illusion from reality.” The ruse imprints itself within their feeble minds, a tired hymn of lies compounded by time. “I subjugate the willing wretches obscuring prophecies of paradise lost as their autonomy is threatened by the ones who claim the will of god.” We'll never die, We live to undermine. As I am worn by the beating of the rocks against my feet, we're met with silence as we all pray silently for our release. It deafens me, robs me of air to breathe as I'm reassured that my gifts of damnation were received. In momentary triumph I forget my place, dispensable puppet of hatred seeking faith. I revel in the prospect of the honor I've displayed in tempting the devotion of the ones who share my fate. “Birthed of the womb of a wraith this world is entombed in a dream. Your withered mind can't separate Illusion from reality.” Indoctrinated by the lure of primitive joys, my brothers speak now with the sound of one voice. “I subjugate the willing wretches obscuring prophecies of paradise lost As their autonomy is threatened by the ones who claim the will of god.” We'll soon run out of time, We can no longer thrive.

With our dark matron's ire having burned all ahead, The fire loses innocents the chance to hide. We're desiccated as the rain starts to relent, With pelts of lambs serving as our disguise. We stalk among the unknowing, those who mourn the loss of what they hold dear. We take advantage of the moment and prey upon misdirected fear. The spectacle of evangelistic hatred becomes the last experience of every soul. With sacrifice, they will come to know our maker and leave with the memory of a winter so cold. The frost subdues the fetid rot of my queen's creations, Who venture on as we consume the spoils. For the the first time, I sense a disassociation between my desire and my choice. My mind protests the feast, yet I can't help but eat. I cannot still my teeth, nor challenge my instinct for fear of death should I now challenge my queen. I lose control as, by their blood, I am sustained, its blessing granted by our queen to invigorate. I fear that my thirst is something that I'll never sate As their corpses are exhausted of the nectar left to claim. The desperation sets in as the flesh is ripped away and our starvation yet persists. Frantically, toward the morning star we race, leaving behind a solemn rift. For reasons I don't know, I see the illusion of long-dead stars which illuminate our path. I recall my longing for the light of the moon, sun, and all the stars long since collapsed. Trapped within a feral god's dream, guided by distant memory, I have to reason to hope, it seems, for salvation for yourself or me. We stalked by the unknown, those who collect the cost of what we hold dear. We taken advantage of in the moment and preyed upon with misdirection and fear. Onward, we writhe in our sea of seditious fear; a tidal wave of treachery cultivated, cast over shores of achievements pursued for years, washing away their history's conservation. Their deaths would not suffice, we'll destroy, too, their writ. We hope only to make their lives as if they were never lived.

Starlight and embers bring glints off of stones, monuments left of traitors we've opposed whose gaze met that of our queen from ‘neath her throne, their souls thereon entombed in marble and gold. The simulacra made of the ones who dared to question would stand eternal watch at the doors of the Vatican. Birthed of most perverse paradoxes, our goddess's breath poisons the holy waters. We sate our thirst with the cursed and prepare for slaughter, and, before them, regurgitate the bones of their daughters. The onslaught withers walls of stone into sand and the cardinals within are discovered. With brutal efficiency we take the holy land, and yet my thirst soon recovers. As our goddess is struck, she bleeds, and our matriarch's influence stutters. For a long-awaited moment, I'm free, and met, in horror, with a mind I govern. Burned from within by the grasp of the queen, I take the chance to strike while she is weak. I meet her throat with all the force with which my teeth can sink, and tear the lungs within asunder as I set my brothers free.

Queen of Night, imbibe my soul as mutinously I take hold. Your roots buried in grassy knolls of lands untainted once before. My spirit's remains are quickly washed away; a kill made here in vain would have our souls now trade. As I enter the corpse that's left, of my own will I am now reft. Made now to observe the rest from the rotting matron's chest. The others bow before the theft which renders me now powerless, a silent witness to their end. They still assume that she is dead. And as they turn around I see my brothers drained, dragged down into the ground deluged there by the rain. Inundated by the flood of that which spilled from holes we bored. Sacrificed in righteous blood shed of the idols they've adored; and the murders and the offerings that we made paled in light of their own. And the further from the god they preach we have strayed, the more they've clung to their thrones. The land was choked, the waters putrified by the blood of their own Christ, for which the night has atoned. The cost we paid for the losses we suffer, all the pain were not enough to save our souls. We're immersed as the years pass, never to be exhumed. I hear new footsteps on our path With every new blood moon.