the workings of a god

caladbolg28 @ 2007-10-08T14:35:00

2007-10-08T13:35:54Z

Scars adorn skin, jewellery made of misery

A crown of thorns, necklaces of blood, bracelets of bone

I curse all I touch, turning all to stone

An island of dying flesh in this blood filled sea

I am the dead, the undying, the lifeless still living

Feeding off your pain, I thrive on your darkness

The sands of time fall, soaking up blood of the bloodless

Separate skin from bone, blades purify the sinning

Armies of chaos storm to battle, swords drawn to kill

Skeletons dance around the fire to the screams

The dead rise, dancing at the world being torn from its seams

A world of decadence, the blood of innocence spill

A coffin for a bed, nails for pillows

Torn skin, burned flesh, bones piercing to the surface

A god of misery, a crown of thorns, a deathly grimace

Scorched wings, the dark king of the gallows

caladbolg28 @ 2007-10-08T14:15:00

2007-10-08T13:24:37Z

dust clouds solidify into pounding rock
striking us all, the full force of human sin
the evil in our souls trying to out run the clock
our youth baptised in blood, taught death or victory
indoctrinated to serve a master, a man, a god
in the name of faith and conquest we lay seige to whats free
we raise the sword against brother, we spill his blood in the sand
our own kind we slay for our selfish desires
only when we see the pain do we understand

isolation, to cut oneself away
to become a ghost in a dying world
feel the cold on your face, realisation that this life is in decay
take existence into your own hands, mold it as you desire
cut the strings of the puppet, become the master
throw away the gods, become your own, elevate yourself higher
with every snowflake that falls another second is lost
another moment out of reach, lost to time
unable to reclaim precious fragments, to live this is the cost

memories are all that bind us to times now gone
woven into our being, they create what we are
a sense of euphoria holds us as we strive to shine light where it once shone
the desire to live in a certain moment, to make time stand
is it not what we all strive for? to indulge in the past?
to live in our own precious world, to hold existence in our hands
in this world memories are all we have that we can call our own
out in the barren world, the unfeeling and the mechanical
our memories they cannot take, they are ours and ours alone

dimmu borgir

2007-10-08T13:11:42Z

caladbolg28 @ 2007-10-03T22:44:00

2007-10-03T21:45:50Z

a mask lying in soil, a mask that once was skin
a face once worn, the image that is illusion
lost to time, ingrained in life, eyes wrought with sin
in the face of sorrow, the mask cast away
torn from the body, flesh and bone revealed
to grow skin anew, eyes of innocence wanting stay

masks worn of the jester race, dancing in the pale moonlight
the moonclad reflection in blackened blood
no mask cast away, images burning the jesters eyes shut tight
inner conflict wages war, wracked with grief are they
gripping minds tight, unable to control streams of thought
taste of blood on the tongue, words that they cannot say

darkening thoughts trickle, seeping through cracked mental walls
eroding away at sanity, poisoning all reason
sinking nails into flesh, screams of agony echo frightening all
fates nihilistic fantasy coming to fruition
realisation of non existence, self corruption bringing forth our demise
choose, become life create purpose, or slave to fates dream of self destruction