The Archer Takes Aim
The Seasons change toward the cold and dark Pale Faces now hide ‘neath the Church’s Arc The Reek of Incense and the Heat of Fires Cast out Man’s Lust for earthly Desires The endless Cycle turns Evil the Wind, bitter the Sea Gray the Sky and barren the Tree The falling Tower breathes Tar and Flame Inhuman Teeth in Shadows die and live again For discordant Winds now sing all Song at Night… The Seasons now cold and dark Pale Faces ruined ‘neath the Church’s Arc Parchment rains onto the Flesh The Currents low; the Tides reversed From gutted Heavens comes the Deluge The flaming Dagger tears the Soul apart Grotesque old, angelic young Small and great; flayed and hung
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 15, 2026
Onward through desolate Valleys now in Ruin And strangled by Belial’s Thorns A Soldier seated upon feeble Mare Seeks the Beast of seven Horns The silent Gloom and shifting Skies Of Twilight’s eerie Call It descends onto looming Peaks above Proclaiming Night’s approaching fall A solitary Candle beside the divine Lance Brandished in mortal fear For the Beast of the Apocalypse itself In nocturnal Woods way appear Each tortuous Path ahead now falls obscure Leading Man’s Soul astray From the Abyss below he is spat forth In Ruinous Glory and weeping Decay The Eyes gleam white in the Shadows Of his Soul’s bitter Blight There is fear and there is Sorrow From abyssal Smoke which chokes the Morrow The Archer takes Aim With poisonous Arrow “Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh In allen Wipfeln spürest du Kaum einen Hauch; die Vögel schweigen im Walde Warte nur, balde ruhest du auch” The Archer takes Aim With poisonous Arrow And the Fall comes hard Down below into Fires
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 15, 2026
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From amidst the Abysses of Worlds Emerges the Beast Wild and untamed into Nightmares Devastating in Grief The Darkness flows below us all Into our woeful Minds Grotesque Devils now stalk our Souls Helpless we are Canst thou not see his wasted hand In writhing Trees The Grasp leaden onto the Heart Hideous in Strength Über hohle Gräber Mit eisigem Schritt Es kommt der Leib des Todes Der Seele gar gravenhast nah… Gestalt des Endes The Name lost a thousand Dreams ago Faded into Dusk Over hollow Graves firmly onward His Presence ever looms Unclear and occult his Appearance Hidden in Shrouds Sunken Eyes that gleam and flare through our Souls Canst thou not see his wasted Face In writhing Fogs The Evil leaden onto the Soul Hideous in Strength Über hohle Gräber Mit eisigem Schritt Es kommt der Leib des Todes Der Seele gar gravenhast nah… Gestalt des Endes And upwards we come to wrest all which was lost Cerements of the graves softly pave all Ways “For Sceptre and Crown must tumble down And in the Dust be equal made with the Poor Crooked Scythe and Spade” Twilight falls, Autumn crawls Deathless Sons, sleepless Ones The cold Procession of all who came before In our final clear and starry Night The Cosmos itself mourns in his Presence And the Devil’s Breath whispers through the Trees
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 15, 2026