I'm like a shell without core, the scream that never dies out.
I'd cut myself but there's no pain,
(just) an endless symphony without sound.
Today we gather, come forth kins, creatures of the night.
We lay to rest the shell of the misanthropic creature.
I am the bloodless heart, the dreamless sleeper.
The cursed, forsaken pagan. I am the misanthropic creature.
The silent chaos, (the) dissonance in sanctity.
I am the broken mirror staring back through pieces.
Of glass, of stone, of filth and weed.
Cloaking through aeons of grief - backbound, bleeding...