Tue Jun 24, 2014 12:27 am by 
A Lich, Alone With His Thoughts
He stays alone at the floor of the sea
Conjuring the souls of spirits long past
For they hold the image of lost majesty
Side stepping shades, and rebuking ghasts
His desecrated realm supersedes divinity
He welcomes those who come free of will
His wit burns infernally in this dead city
It is his own soul that he seeks to fill
Do not tarry within his isolation
For he shares too much to those who would meet him
He swallows you up into his damnation
And grants no quarter to those who would greet him
I now grace his decrepit antechamber
I need his soul and he needs my anger
We Came as Arsonists to a City of Fire
I entered this dead, malleable realm
A city incited with fire and ash
With a leader hidden beneath a witch elm
With roots reaching into a sacrosanct cache
Inverted spires emerge from blazed Earth
Casting Westward shadows that never end
Over a populace that long since lost it’s worth
To the flames of the heavens it once called friend
I long to know them and force their experience
In a seamless world without time or reality
I’ll enrage their spirits and snuff their resilience
with the knowledge that is stowed in their frailty
The spires gravitate tethered to the witch elm
Through the lobes of the man who I seek to overwhelm
Battle for the Center of the Earth
There is nothing left to be said for me
The hours have drawn hands upon their faces
And left the spectrum to die in eternity
Life and victory are uncorrelated in these spaces
Heaven forgive us for the fragrance we drown in
And bless our path as we intake these transgressions
Cut the sun from the sky like feelings from sin
And flow out our ecstasy through reckless aggression
Grounds spin like time and tumble like an empire
The world left us long ago to die here
My magnificent dreams shadowed by the spire
Memories pour from wounds of people I held dear
Incendiary blood spills onto the terraces
That holds us over oblivion crevices
He stays alone at the floor of the sea
Conjuring the souls of spirits long past
For they hold the image of lost majesty
Side stepping shades, and rebuking ghasts
His desecrated realm supersedes divinity
He welcomes those who come free of will
His wit burns infernally in this dead city
It is his own soul that he seeks to fill
Do not tarry within his isolation
For he shares too much to those who would meet him
He swallows you up into his damnation
And grants no quarter to those who would greet him
I now grace his decrepit antechamber
I need his soul and he needs my anger
We Came as Arsonists to a City of Fire
I entered this dead, malleable realm
A city incited with fire and ash
With a leader hidden beneath a witch elm
With roots reaching into a sacrosanct cache
Inverted spires emerge from blazed Earth
Casting Westward shadows that never end
Over a populace that long since lost it’s worth
To the flames of the heavens it once called friend
I long to know them and force their experience
In a seamless world without time or reality
I’ll enrage their spirits and snuff their resilience
with the knowledge that is stowed in their frailty
The spires gravitate tethered to the witch elm
Through the lobes of the man who I seek to overwhelm
Battle for the Center of the Earth
There is nothing left to be said for me
The hours have drawn hands upon their faces
And left the spectrum to die in eternity
Life and victory are uncorrelated in these spaces
Heaven forgive us for the fragrance we drown in
And bless our path as we intake these transgressions
Cut the sun from the sky like feelings from sin
And flow out our ecstasy through reckless aggression
Grounds spin like time and tumble like an empire
The world left us long ago to die here
My magnificent dreams shadowed by the spire
Memories pour from wounds of people I held dear
Incendiary blood spills onto the terraces
That holds us over oblivion crevices
