Mist draws through the moor
Mud soaks through my toes
Step by step forward
I do not know why
Waft of mist surrounds me
Grasps me... An ungentle embrace
I let me draw, as enchanted
One step, then the next one
Wait! I see nothing, too dense fog
I halt... The drawing becomes stronger
I am struggling, stepping back. Voices?
I am listening to its sound... Only illusion?
The fog lifted a bit, I can see the end of the swamp
Fighting through moor and mist towards it
A poor sparkle shows me the way
Drawing more and more to a close...
It defines itself... A mirror
Not yet able to discern
Before reaching the end, the veil falls
I do not espy any mist, simply human being
No moor, but lies, no swamp, mere its religion
A religious wasteland... Human graveland
Faith... Engraved on its tombstone
I am leaving the swamp, no turning back
I do not take pity on anyone
Everyone cuts his own path
- Ultimate Downfall
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- Blasphemic Madness
- Peste sacrale (Sang pour ..
- His Presence - Satanic Di..
- Schizophrenia in Death
- Divine Apocalyptic Gloom ..