Praeparet Bellum

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Caelum Ardere Vidistis

As time fades and solace wanes
In shrieks beguiled clamoring profane
To grasp the air that seres deranged
From the darkest night unto blinding light

Life does dwell as near estranged
Panting for the spirit of day
Festive sky, the spectacle remains
Aghast with fright at the decline of might

Haunted death in timed decay
A future bereft, a charred world is stained
The life of the blind shall no more crave
The warmth of light deprived from the night





Sanguinem Floralibus Luna

As the dawn fades cascaded by haze
Sillhouetted by night outstretched by light
Behind the brilliance the darkness pervades
Magnificence cast sight for the wretched blind

As the wounds of heaven radiates it’s breath
Unlit in it’s cast to a dreaming gaze
A dying mass of infinite death
Blossoms as time leaves this floral place

The rose above discards love gained
Leaving a haunted palace in disguise revealed
Unlight slips away and the sun remains
As the black orb drifts far mutedly still





Terra Mota Est

The dead soul takes the live corpse into the grave
In this land, always lost, nothing sacred is made

Is it worth the while to cherish
Hopes that will surely perish?

Have we been condemned a life in vain?
Is salvation of heaven only torment and pain?

Is it worth the while to cherish
Hopes that will surely perish?

No goodbyes nor regrets to save
Nothing desired, no invalid craves
Blinded in black unworthy of name
Begot for lack and dust into space

In this land of the lost, of waste and disgrace
The dead seize the living into the flames





Vita Cantus

In the morning light of the rising sun I feel the warm rays charge my life
Breathing the fresh dew-filled air refreshes my soul, welcome
Hearing the gentle whispers of the wind caresses my mind
Fulfilled at the smell of roses so soft to see, and touch, I feel
saved, I am saved, saved and free

In the shade of night a rose withers among a stolen dream
Inhale the cold and the stale, deplete my forgotten deeds
In enchanted silence we fall deaf within our cries
The acrid stench of death is me, to fall, to dust
gone, I am gone, gone and free





Ex Finitim

Is this the end of unknown friends?
A turmoil so wretched through a wanton maze
Breaking past the haze of death and life
On through to the other side of whatever waits

Beauty stained and scarred
The passing of a righteous way
Cold in lust and warm in the earth
Cascading heaven drips away

Secrets shunned and then are hidden
To claim a frozen plain
Take the soft hardship
And glimmer into the fade

What light can rebound beyond an invisible gate?
What shade can be cast in the absence of day?
Danse to the west as the north creeps
Reflect to the east as the south weeps

Follow me to the realm of nothing
Take my hand as a strangers care
To a land desperate of enduring pain
In the nights we die, this is the end





Voluntatem Dei

Upon this dusty soil, fertile and unclean
Stands a wrath, taken by stance unjustly
Driven on by human waste, a challenged, peaceful scene

Driven on, on, and on
Bitterness of betrayal, abandoned to flee
Taken from a resting bench while digging deep
Moving fast, ever onward, and without speed
Venture forth, renewed discourse, kept by fallen pleas

Driven on, on, and on
Encased inside a forceful living tomb
Righteousness and solace, willful solitude
Desecrate the earth from within this womb

Carefree for the careless from this hulking beast
Holy ground, God’s will shall be done through me
Blessed by the Almighty, I feel only peace
Driven by an appeal to heaven while angels scream
Thirteen circles of rebellion and countless dreams
Moving on, seizing gambles, then treading deep





Unholy Sonnet

Death, dear, be proud, and all have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, and thou art so
For those whom thou dost overthrow
Do die, great Death, and that may kill me
To rest and sleep, thy pictures shall be
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow
And soonest our best men with thee do go
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery
We are slaves of fate, chance, kings, and desperation
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell
And poppy or charms may make us sleep as well
No better than thy stroke; and thou swell’st then!
One short sleep past, we sleep eternally
And Death shall be evermore, with Death, we shall die





Praeparet Bellum

(Intrumental)