Black Rites of Execration - Ravencult

A parade of blades

Marching round your neck

But glorious like mountain you stand

Cold sweat leads fear

To the upper layer of skin

To an escape so great

From cells that beg to die

Darkness brighter than all suns

World without end

Testament of mourn

Enchanted dead skin

My eyes are doomed

In my sockets

I bestowed your icon

A vomit of spells

Backwards to spit

Mind’s eye condemned

Body deceased

Spirit misled

Through candlelit halls

A lifeline attached

To strings of revenge

A parade of blades

marched down your throat

But glorious like mountain you stood

On a grasp of breath ashamed you fade

Gold scepters are nothing but plunder