Tracks

01. The Last Relic of Axen
02. Iced, In Extremis
03. Wormwood
04. Incultus



01. The Last Relic of Axen

The cosmos is a mindless vortex
A seething ocean of blind forces
In which the greatest joy is unconsciousness
And the greatest pain realisation"

Still, darkness torments me
As I'm engulfed by light
No thing beneath me
But the all-consuming sea

Death smells familiar
And its fumes ignite my eyes
Still, I see nothing
As I fall to my demise

"For what does it matter
Whether we suffer or not?
Our feelings are
The most trivial of incidents
In the unending cycle
Of existence.


02. Iced, In Extremis

In this tomb
Wrought by ice
Solidified, my eyes
Stare blankly at night sky
Cold and soulless
As I die

Helpless
Unable to comprehend

Iced, in extremis
A frozen god
Damned, alone
'Til time is gone

Time will end

In this tomb
Wrought by ice
Solidified, my eyes
Stare blankly at night sky
Cold and soulless
As I die

Watching, waiting, slowly dying
Never to decay
A shell preserved for all time
Iced, in extremis
A frozen god
Herald of death lives on


03. Wormwood

All the trivial pleasures of Erthe
Are but bile and bitter venom
When all has darkened
Hatred's light shall guide me

The torrid winds of my home
No longer warm my flesh
I turn my gaze to the sea
To my forgotten enemy

The weight of prophecy
No longer burdens me
I save my strength
To be reborn

Behind me is that world of Ash
The cold air shortens my breath
Winters Spirits grow stronger
As I draw near

I hope my death
Absolves me of my wrongs
I hope, I hope it is cold
I hope, I hope it hurts

And as my life is ripped away
I hope I try to hold on

I go alone
Into Erthe's frozen womb
The weight, the weight of the cold
Is too much,
Too much to bear

I hope it's cold
I hope it hurts

As Wormwood fell
Into the sea
I became
Nobody

Though tales are told
Of the cold
No one knows
How it feels


04. Incultus

Cursed be thy name
The outcast one; companionless.
Who by his will betrayed
His beautiful creation.

It is unspoken
And he is resolute
He is broken

He will not say
If he's the enemy
He is no one

His mind will rot
And crows will tear his flesh
Live long, feel naught

When given life
He found a way to die
He is no one

So here's your land;
This Barren Erthe.
Both thorn and thistle
shall it grow for you.

And though you'll eat of it,
It never satisfies.
And you will curse its name!
Incultus!