The dead speaks to me From beyond the grave That is why my conscience is I've buried the dead alive The blood of the child is pure now In death it gives me life The circle is complete Begin another... Dark cold icy death As the scorpion stings the minds obsessed A venomous kiss of profane grace As shades of hatred reigns Silent screams of suffering I stand in flames of torturing Goddess of flesh hunger and desire Grant me wings of hellish fire Know that all my creations spring From blood on the cross in blasphemy I am death the creator of sin And of the pure I am the wind The dance of creeping shadows Enchanting all insania I've become evil in soul and mind In a demonoid fantasia A venomous kiss of profane grace In a world so fundamentally weak I see no beginning only the end