Deathspell Omega - Mass Grave Aesthetics lyrics
[Deathspell Omega - Mass Grave Aesthetics lyrics]
"What matter the victims
Provided the gesture is beautiful?
What matters the death of vague human beings
If thereby the individual affirms
Himself?" – Laurent Tailhade
The black Idol emerges as a silver lining
In a dust cloud of death
Eerie parallel tongues and the
Piping of heaven
The culture of transgression is
Mine and my descent
Makes me ascend in a repugnant swirl
Sic volo sic jubeo
Stat pro ratione voluntas
The black Idol fills the veil
Of flesh with noxious smoke
Depicting primal human
Experiences indifferently
Contemptuous of moral concerns, dehumanized
The howling of wolves and the destructive
Sword are portions of Eternity
Too great for the eyes of merely a man
Transcendence of thresholds occurs with
Violence and will
For Vice is like the mind's dark radiance
Which blinds and of which I'm dying
Corruption is the spiritual cancer reigning
In the depths of things
And it fills until the last
Cell of my vivid being
Dissolution and putrefaction
Prevailing Aesthetic experience
The splendor of the obscene and inhuman
For what matters the death of
A vague human beings
If thereby the individual affirms himself?
Violence exists in the moment when the
Eye turns upwards into the head
When inversion is complete and total
The darkness of the upturned eye is
Not the absence of light
But the process of seeing being
Taken to it's limit
That thorough derangement of the senses
Way beyond the deceptive conflict
Between darkness and light
Opens perceptions to the tyranny
Of the Chekhinah
Si non credideritis non intelligetis
The dimension of ethereal
Totalitarianism discloses it'self
And takes possession of the
Quintessential human soul
Like a nail hammered through
Most tender flesh
Aeons separate the one whose eyes have seen
Through the night of the spirit
The king, the Lord of hosts
Draped in terrifying magnificence
From the gleaming clot of trembling vermin
If a faith and a belief aren't
Nurtured by the moist of blood
They do not grow, nor do they live
It is at the magnitude of daily murders
Massacres and mass graves
That we do measure the
Propagation of our faith
Hearken and recognize, that hideous carrion
Legs in the air, like a whore – displayed
Indifferent to the last
A belly slick with lethal sweat
And swollen with foul gas
This is you, nourishing
The grand Mass Grave Aesthetics!
Provided the gesture is beautiful?
What matters the death of vague human beings
If thereby the individual affirms
Himself?" – Laurent Tailhade
The black Idol emerges as a silver lining
In a dust cloud of death
Eerie parallel tongues and the
Piping of heaven
The culture of transgression is
Mine and my descent
Makes me ascend in a repugnant swirl
Sic volo sic jubeo
Stat pro ratione voluntas
The black Idol fills the veil
Of flesh with noxious smoke
Depicting primal human
Experiences indifferently
Contemptuous of moral concerns, dehumanized
The howling of wolves and the destructive
Sword are portions of Eternity
Too great for the eyes of merely a man
Transcendence of thresholds occurs with
Violence and will
For Vice is like the mind's dark radiance
Which blinds and of which I'm dying
Corruption is the spiritual cancer reigning
In the depths of things
And it fills until the last
Cell of my vivid being
Dissolution and putrefaction
Prevailing Aesthetic experience
The splendor of the obscene and inhuman
For what matters the death of
A vague human beings
If thereby the individual affirms himself?
Violence exists in the moment when the
Eye turns upwards into the head
When inversion is complete and total
The darkness of the upturned eye is
Not the absence of light
But the process of seeing being
Taken to it's limit
That thorough derangement of the senses
Way beyond the deceptive conflict
Between darkness and light
Opens perceptions to the tyranny
Of the Chekhinah
Si non credideritis non intelligetis
The dimension of ethereal
Totalitarianism discloses it'self
And takes possession of the
Quintessential human soul
Like a nail hammered through
Most tender flesh
Aeons separate the one whose eyes have seen
Through the night of the spirit
The king, the Lord of hosts
Draped in terrifying magnificence
From the gleaming clot of trembling vermin
If a faith and a belief aren't
Nurtured by the moist of blood
They do not grow, nor do they live
It is at the magnitude of daily murders
Massacres and mass graves
That we do measure the
Propagation of our faith
Hearken and recognize, that hideous carrion
Legs in the air, like a whore – displayed
Indifferent to the last
A belly slick with lethal sweat
And swollen with foul gas
This is you, nourishing
The grand Mass Grave Aesthetics!