Through ambered eventides and dreamscapes waste
Throat-cut memories writhe dissolving
As the sacred sinners white washed hands
Bless the earth with sonorous lies
For words are the manacles of doctrinal hypocrisy
Murderous instincts never silenced they hold
So I rise above the grotesque industry of pain
As I deny the grace of the divine foretold
Midst rebellious angels I do now sleep
Isolated from the grasp of the holy scorn
So touch my essence through pride and revolt
Our stormbrought winterthrone to eternalize
I am but what I am
Far from thy inebriating delusions
Hidden ‘neath the blueprints of your edifices
My entity you cannot steal | 
