The Meads of Asphodel - Lamenting Weaver Of Horror Тексты

1 Witch. Thrice the gasping jew hath bawled.
2 Witch. Thrice and once, the gypsy wailed
3 Witch. Ss guard cries: - ‘tis time! ‘tis time!
1 Witch. Round about the caldron go;

Dribble, dribble, blood and spittle,
Human meat and to gore nibble

Glowing embers and faggot hiss
Bloated belly and boiling piss,
Curdled vomit, a blind man’s cane.
Eye of sinti, slavic bane,

Tail of rat, and teeth of jew
A piece of skin with ink tattoo
A mouth agape and quivering tongue
The sting of death, the victim stung

Dribble, dribble, blood and spittle,
Human meat and to gore nibble

Into this pot we stir a stew
Of death, of hate, of death for you.


Boy “is anybody there, can anybody help me?”
Death “I am death.”
Boy “where am I?”
Death “you are here.”
Boy “where is here?”
Death “here is now, here is darkness.”
Boy “please sir, what have I done?”
Death “you were fucking born.”
Boy “I want my mother? Where is she?”
Death “she is fucking dead”…
Boy “I don’t understand?”
Death “it is not for you to understand, just to die and be forgotten.”
Boy “I want to go home.”
Death “you are home, you are fucking dead, everybody you know is fucking dead.”
Boy “no.”

Death, I take this hollow chimney and whittle a flute from the oak riven ash, and cinders of men, women and children
Here is my song of death

I lay in a dreary open grave, chewing on a dandelion root
And the blood from the sod above drips into my mouth,
And the taste was of children dead,

Forever death bound we fall
Lost in murder, a murdering haze
Wrapped in wailing dread
Of sackcloth and ash
Upon a twilight dawn