Flowers Of The Evil

Through The Steadfastness Of Centuries Growing Up

Are The Dead Stalks

Dimly Glaring In The Moonshine

Are Cold Roses

Putrid Stench Of Flowers Of Evil

Is The Fragrance Of Death

In The Silvery Shine Of Cold Thorns There Are

Bloody Streams

Like The Fingers Of Black Iron Hand

Are The Panzers Of Buds

The Cold Of Their Leaves Like The Razorblade

Cuts The Flesh

The Black Night Is Fulfilled With Silent Knell

With The Singing Of Death

With The Twittering Of Dead Phantom Birds

In The Dead Roses

Through The Steadfastness Of Centuries Growing Up

Are The Dead Stalks...

Steel Of Thorns, Ice Of Buds

Blades Of Leaves...

Those Were Inhaling The Aroma

Of Flowers Of The Evil In The Black Night

Are Consumed Forever With The Coldness

Of Lifeless Realms