Carved by hours of many fullmoon cycles
his face an abyss, hands eroded by drudgery
bearing ruins, bearing perdition on his shoulders
in the eye and in the morn
the old spirit is walking onward, but walking forlorn
A cursed destiny
neither crown nor halo upon the head
a vast trial
a vast burden
that he cannot shed
An obscure aura
that emanates from a body that has bled
a moribund walker,
a silent talker
he strides among the dead
with genuine will
They call him the doomed
they call him the possessed
but what they don't know is
that his soul is more than blessed
They advise him to plead
and kneel in front of Yahweh's altar
to call for divine intervention
it would be the cry for
a celestial empire that has never been
and will never reveal salvation
Beyond the borders of society
beyond the borders of normal man
walks the follower of the left hand path
and beyond the borders of flesh
and beyond the manifestations of time
the forlorn wanderer will find a kingdome for his self
a kingdome for the forlorn
Everything was left behind
except the will to strive for higher
chaos preacher raise your voice
invoke the black illuminating fire
give birth to mental liberation
and d**h to stagnation
in your kingdome forlorn
Unexpected strength and power
channels the hungry wide eye gazer
the more inconspicuous he acts outwardly
the wilder the nature behind the pupil
Marked by symbols and divine hands
his face a mask, his hands are tools and weapons
bearing wisdom, bearing faith, king of the unknown