The soul of the dead ruler might climb to the sky
drawn their sins suspended on helical tombs
in foreground rises the creepy shape of the unholy ones
larvae's covering waiting for rebirth's sign
enter an encysted hibernation
Empery's necrofarmers cultivate these inseminoids
but what they do with their harvest lifeless
no one knows even if they will see the light of day
immerge their scabbards on glacial calabooses
enter an encysted hibernation
A memmified oval spheroid
emulsify at the archaic towers
beside the vast upper regions
the started the crooked devolution
Evanesce the unfruitful heatless
conservation on encapsulation
glorify their cavernous necrotheism
they will never conquer my astral body.