In his ignorant hunger, waxing in darkness
The demiurge looked upward
To behold the pearl-lit mistress
And he followed her
Into the blackness of his soul
Blood is her tribute
Life is her harvest

Veni Qayin ben Samael

And so we girdle ourselves
With the snake skins of wisdom

To Death's head true!
Under the signs of the moon we gather
Thou shalt be an initiate of the holy things
Thou shalt rise from death's sleep

Carrion falls under the weight of his sickle
Our harvest is complete
Jus augurate!
Lengthy shadows fill with serpents coiled
None but the chosen ones shall stand before the Lord of Death!

Salutations, crossed arms and clinched fists

High on his hill
Grounds of demise, under cypress trees
Following the northern wind of souls
Where Saturn coincides
There is mastery in death
And lies in the light
Beauty in plague
Worship of death

Madness transfixed to glory

A birth-rite, born of Fire
Not of clay, the lowly races of Adam
Eating from the spoiled rotten harvest
Follow us not (the faint of heart)
We are the bacteria simmering in secrecy
The children of the night
We gather beyond shallow graves
To Death's head true!