Todtentanz
Come forth, holy disaster! And crush by your divine dance!<br/> <br/> Tremble in fear, glebe's progeny, for the drums are now thundering, the trumpets are now sounding as an overture to the dance of death! A pounding beat, endless and pure, a ball macabre to which all are invited.<br/> <br/> Humbly kneel to the corpse-like lady. Do not expect her blade to be painless. Offer your nape for the highest of blessings: the delivery from the burden of life.<br/> <br/> Behold the piles of dirty livid faces, frozen in agony and terror, trampled and mocked by the restless lady who laughs dementedly and whose feet frenetically beat the speeding tempo of the Todtentanz.<br/> <br/> Oh rise death supreme! And sweep away all life, subdue everyone and everything with your divine perfection so no trace remains of this miserable kind.<br/> <br/> Oh rise death supreme! And dance until nothing is left.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Rose clouds of holocaust<br/> Rose clouds of flies<br/> Rose clouds of bitter<br/> Bitter, bitter lies<br/> <br/> And, when the angels of ignorance<br/> Fall down from your eyes<br/> Rose clouds of holocaust<br/> Rose clouds of lies...<br/> <br/> Rose clouds of twilight truth<br/> Rose clouds of night<br/> Rose clouds of harvested<br/> (love, all alight)<br/> <br/> And, when the ashes of life<br/> Fall down from the skies<br/> Rose clouds of holocaust<br/> Rose clouds of lies...<br/> <br/> And, festivals end<br/> As festivals must<br/> From the hooded crows of Rome<br/> To the falcons of Zagreb<br/> Oh, mother victim of Jesus<br/> Lie down in Sydney's dust<br/> For, festivals end<br/> As festivals must
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
The divine madness that cuts yourself apart from life, dragging you down the spiral, numbing your senses for you to strike harder, casting light on the path for you to walk further. The divine choir sings your name at last, it requires service and devotion. They who hear know the rules better and are anointed by the blood from the serpent's tail.<br/> <br/> The path is walked with all its harmful traps, no matter the pain, no matter the bite.<br/> <br/> The night can come with its legions of clouds, bringer of doubts, bringer of fright, which cold blades grow blunt with time, and no longer gash into certitude, but still deprive rest and quietude and deface the dreams until the morning bleeds. Listen! Can't you hear? Yells and cries and groans… A pain symphony sounding its glory. Rejoice for this is your only reward for Epiklesis.<br/> <br/> My darkness shines upon all those I've hurt. My coldness burns all those who owe me their pain.<br/> <br/> Twisted germs are growing, promising vile and profuse harvest. Pacing and fostering the Devil's fields, helping those from the ground not to lack anything: any disease or vice or suffering or lust or anything that blinds and hurts. Rest assured the pain is insidiously endless, the children of Iniquity take care.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026