Cult of a Dying Sun

Confined in hopeless valleys

Stricken with vast veil of shadow

No light will reach beyond these mountains

There's more comfort to be found among gallows

We're lost within the pitch of gloom

As night-tide piles the dead ashore

The breathless laugh in the face of dreams

And the subsisting smirk midst scaling banks of gore

Decomposing tower

Self-generating cadaverous Gate to Abaddon

Lining lungs with azure plage

All will succumb to putrefaction

And we crawl higher, over the dying

Without remorse, for life we're prying

And we push forward, we march on

Into nothing, where we belong