Lyrics:

Bitter things seek meaningEven if they're madness to beholdOnce forbears to horizonsWhere the dead stayed dreamingNow nightmares waken soulsThat fear the living's tollGova, Bosch and BrueghelThree times moonwise stain thy gravesFor words alone are at loss to traceThe face of today's inhuman wraithOne half adrift in the vast abyssOf despair and miseryThe other a mask of rich red lipsWhetted by the fevers of belief and greedAll damned in this infernoWhere even Virgil averts His eyesFrom the black mass mutual gang rapeOf Caesing hands an forced dividesTrespass these seven gatesTo a world bloodlet to shadesWhere Seraphim(Falling on deaf ears) bleatOf their cold and coming Master's raceIn the seweres of BabylonStillborn to a trough anonChimiracles will hatch like plotsTo dredge faeces to pearl their crossEnter Penteholocaust!Five Aeons past, yet still Man graspsAt final straws to save his castHis Lord is a leper we shall not wantHe betrayed us with white liesHis acrid pall as of the tombReminds us how we rot insideGutted like fool's paradiseGlutted on cruel appetites...Holding court to chaosFolding to far graver armsA downfall fatal to all resoundsAs orgies peak in self centred psalmsAnd Nature screams Her sufferingsUnder bowed and cankered wingsA bleak scorched Earth necrotica burningLike the robes we've torn from HerShe begs Us lay Her pain to restLest We are left with nothingnessSave for Her stripped and ravished fleshAnd if Her fate is not portent of ApocalypseThen the comets that graxe nightskiesWill surely cleanse of wrongs and reichsWhen you and I and all else dies...It's rotting downThis carcass MaggotropolisInterdependent as worms to the graveAllah's true name is naughtChist acannot saveLocked in a waltz of evermore frantic stepsSpells of regret...Death Magick for AdeptsBe prepared to fulfill propheciesThe glorious fall of a sin dynastyGutted like fool's paradiseGlutted on cruel appeitites...\'We've woven hearts a thorn arbourLeft tear streaked reason upon the shoreAnd bereft of compass, star or moreSet out for this World's endFew at the prow, most slave belowPainting coal a perfect goldBut for all it's worth, the engines slowDead in the brine againCome cabin fever, sodomy on the bountyPrey to phallus seasThat hiss and foam to douse diseaseA storm roars on the wayBlacker than the Ace of RapesDealt out by Death in darkwood gladesOur Ship of Fools, all boards handmadeSinks, dashed by seismic waves...\'
Cradle Of Filth Death Magick For Adepts