Manifest Of The Phantoms Fasade

Impaled raider-angels chest

A battered sculpture here manifests

Woe - Begone souls

Crowd the world in under Arcane

As a horde yet kept asuder Profane

Cruel defected angels

Ensnared in sweet rapture

Yet cursing and rejecting their sins

Descending steep stairs

Of black frosty stone

Approaching the vault

Of the ones assumed condoned

From the walls grabble claws

Of a voracious kind

Lasvicious gods laughter

Resounds in the halls like thunder

Draw the sabre offered to you from

The scabbard in the phantoms globed hand

And chop away Feel free from grace

Blistering dead mist looms up from

The phosphorous wells like acid steam

Noxious gas invades the weak things

Of the damned as they crowd

Themselves stairward

But held down by the sabre-

Wielding lords

Take the meat-dish offered to you and

The goblet from the phantoms gloved hand

Sink your teeth into the flesh of your prey

You have given rein

To your malicious ways

Mangeled and torn

Hangs the torso with angelwings

Amongst my gates ebony xylography

No crawling back

From underworld purgatory

To heavens filled with hypocrisy

Take the banner handed to you and

The dagger from the phantoms gloved hand

To lead the way