The Synarchy Of Molten Bones

O Father! Iatros! Witness thou anon!

Mists above, Exhalations below

I shall forevermore be betwixt all things

Preventing communion

Shielding off the weakening beams of salvation

Shining upon the mournful gloom of Earth

A dreadful interval, sly foundation of ruin

And breathe warring winds, racking hail

Where just this Morn thrice beloved concord was

Hearken this hideous peal as they drink the water

Of Styx, for all things shall become my prey

The water of Acheron, as they silence fragile weeping

With horrent arms; the water of Cocytus

To laugh at the laments of the Holy Dead

Yon boiling water of Phlegeton, cataracts

Of fire alike, and the water of Lethe

For what shall remain, even in memories

But a livid seat of ever renewing desolation?

Hearken thunder from below, like growling gods

Who erupt to be released and bare their fangs

A long shudder shakes the world as

Rising upon the bleak horizon, swell into lifeless life

The Commandments that shall sanctify the reign

Of the Specter that gnaws upon Man like

Hounds chew on bones and offal

The Synarchy of Molten Bones shall consist

Of Men of worth and Men of ill intent

In abandoned yet equal numbers

For their insurgent wills harbor

The seed of transgression alike

This seed shall bloom with noxious flowers

Borne out of the mordant steel of scythes

Justice will die first

To the hammering sound of tears watering the Earth

As aught hope remains to reverse course