Dark Seraphim

I. The Falling Star

Is this tear or white blood that running from my eyes?
This heart melting in the shrinking grave
I slaughter the celestial serpent
Those taste these fleshes of the tortured corpse

Winged seraphim choose immortality
A hunger for bittersweet and pain
Winged seraphim choose the damned reality
And learn how love kisses the pain

He sacrifice His wings
A destruction of heaven
And the naïve devils laugh
At the silent God above

From biblical corpus to diabolical ars
I find the filthiest name to embrace my title
From flesh and bone to each drop of blood
I carve the dark seraphim’s curse
And the grimoire of the damned

Temptation is a ghost for real
Naked heart mankind in satanic mannequins
The darkness is the guiding star, the guiding path
To our wonderful black Lotus feet

II. Rejuvenation of the Belialical Realm

The maniacal voices of the sickening earth
Whisper my name
Asking me to enter her hidden labyrinth
Shape-shift
Human-tyrannical
The rotting of the celestial skin
I’m roaming in hunger for bliss

The faces of truth is Belialical Scheme
The God that portrayed is the Baal of Lilin
Allah’s manifestation in deviatory regime
Purity is being sodomized by the deities full of greed

I name thee a prophet to embrace thee a kindness
But Lilith lovelorn had breed evil in sadness
Even Messiah had thickening his divine graveyard wall
From the temptation that hissing in acidic rainfall

Twisting, turning in the mud and the rot
Maggotropolis over clouding Mecca and Vatican
Midianites rise from their aching hibernation
Flung over here in the storm of angel’s lullabies

III. The Covenant

From the bowel of my nemesis
To the throne of thy sacred deities
I smear the faeces of dirt bliss
On the face of the promiscuous beasts

The beasts that name their father Adam
Never resembles their graceful Eve
A demon; a scapegoat
And God ignore
My crystal tears turn to bloody grieve

A sacred corpus that keep Thy words
A tale of whore and blasphemous realm
The masquerade carnival of masking truth that loathed
That never last till the Tiamat born at the Qiyama’s requiem