Eight Coffin Nails

Upon winding and stony trails, where the lead-hearted can never go, have I found the holiest of havens. The true North for a seeking soul. This congregation of crooked bodies and their motionless circle dance. It all resounds an unending poem of ordeal and murderous deeds most sacrosanct. Wherever I walk, stand, leap or stumble, it is there beneath my heels. Forever treated but never trampled the verdant field of our belief. Let once again the mundane drown in the rivers of eternity, and may magick unlost be newly found as I in you and you in me. A raven's feather and my heart placed on your scales at the darkest moon. Which one weighs heavier, and which is blacker of the two?

Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025

As the sun is slowly cut by the jagged blade of the horizon, the sylvan kingdom around me unveils its blackening face. In my left eye flashes the silver sickle of sacrifice, the golden plate of offering shines in the right. O' fire, fill my lungs, give swiftness to these words. By their beaks and claws ablaze are the gates once buried unearthed. With blood I bless you, with spells I crown you. With everything I am I make you holy and lay you down at His feet. In His left eye flashes the silver sickle of sacrifice, the golden plate of offering shines in the right. When the nightsky hymns give way to the song of the dawn. On the lips of witches is the God of Silence restored.

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 26, 2025

Not even in the abyssal ocean did the nail from the sacred forge cool, and that iron thorn fallen from on high was driven into a soil ever-frozen. By it's burning blessing everythig was transformed, the ice turned into a stream and the land into its sole vessel. Through more and more sacred drops the stream became a gushing river. Wild it flowed forth, consuming even the earth around it. Come the deadliest of droughts or a winter without end. The water will not still, its course will never bend. Day after day, night after night, my mind rides its hidden currents, and the mirror-like surface cradles my tuest reflection. The roaring will, the earthen heart. Their essence mixed together, their destination the same. The sea of your shoreless darkness!

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 26, 2025

Great path-revealer, pluck out one of your million eyes and place it like a kiss upon my brow. Beholding with your godly vision, even if for a fleeting moment will unlock the shackles that hold me down. By the heat of celestial fire raining down from the silver lips, the brew of remembrance boils in the cauldron upturned. Luminaries most high with the mirror in my soul your rays align. Turn me into a beacon that lights up the night. Majesties of old, I shmash the mask against the altar stone. And fashion from the shards another to match your own. An opened book of timeless sorcery is the jewelled dome arching above me. In the presence of such wonders no blasphemy would be more grave than a heart unopened and sight self-restrained. By the heart of terrestrial fire rising up the crimson lips, the seed of reverence enters the blood-cup upturned.

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 26, 2025

By earth, by water, by air and fire, by spirit most pure I fling open the door. By word, by gesture, by songs that they inspire, by will most sound I call them forth. Where three roads lead and eight winds part stands our church beyond time and place. With hooves for feet and flames for heart around the same fount of power we pace. There is no higher honour than to sup at their table, no greater gift than this chalice we share. The feet that stomp the grave of my own Abel shall move to the rythm of a lifelong prayer. Bright Moon Lover, make this body writhe. Black Moon Mother, with your blood wash my eye. The wisdom of the dead I raise from the halls beneath, and the radiance of the stars I draw down. I speak the spells of old and echo each future deed, and bind them all in the eternal Now. There is no higher honour than to sup at their table, no greater gift than this chalice we share. The feet that stomp the grave of my own Abel shall move to the rythm of a lifelong prayer.

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 26, 2025

With strength I am armoured, prayers grace the sword unsheathed. Armed to the teeth I am, with devoted thought and deed. In this war that has been fought since the blood in me unfroze, no sacrifice is too dire, no torment great enough to oppose. Foe, march your legions right at my kingdom's edge. None may breach its bounds without being torn to shreds. There are things pure and sacred and those that seek their decline. Across the divide between them we meet eye to eye. It take a thousand masks to conceal one rotten core, but a single willed strike can make its dominion fall. For one last passing second I lose myself in your empty stare, facing me from the shards of the mirror.

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 26, 2025

A face of bone and dried blood hovers in the silken darkness, and unto it I am the mirror. In the orgy of graveyard shadows a gate was shown to me, and unto it I am the key. The skull of a noble beast is placed upon the stang. And I hold the cleaving sword, the liberator of its essence. In the mist of the morn we stand both triumphant and torn. Twice eleven times the death bell chimes, twice eleven are the poison drops in our wine. The ring of the Reaper, we all kiss at birth, we call him King, yet strangely shun His work.

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 26, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

A seed sown by the hands of the stars, fallen into the soil raked by the moon. Destined to rise like others before, to reach heavenwards from this earthly womb. With a femur from the corpse of the sun, time strikes the harvest drum. A tree grown by the light of the stars, fallen onto the soil graced by the moon. Bound to dissolve like others before, to link with its kin through this earthly tomb. Writ in blood and edged in stone is the solemn song of the silent crows. Swathe my flesh in the blackest satin adorned with the spells we shared. Lay me down on a bed of branches, and let the flames strike high. When at last I wake up to greet the horizons of blazing red, arms no longer extend from me but a pair of golden wings instead.

Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 26, 2025