ANATHEMA – Echoes Of Terror

Existence, throught a spirit’s will
A force, use the power of evil

Darkness, visualize
As light pierces through your yearning eyes

Rebirth of a lost soul
Your body, a channel with witch to grow old

Mephitic, smell of death
Rancid flesh, of the undead

Inner screams,
Useless tears,
Shattered bones.
My prayer…
“Oh Lord…
…Help me die.”

“Please help me die.”

This inner gloom,
A subterrainean hell.
A morbid sleep,
In my stygian world.
My mind is locked,
At chains my thoughts.
I pray for death.
Euthanasize my soul.

Sanctify me!

Epitaph, to mankind
Engraved, on your mind

Stigmata, on the flesh.
Dead images, put to rest.