Darkened Nocturn Slaughtercult : The Pest Called Humanity

Black Metal / Germany
(1999 - Self-Released)
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Teksty


01 - Ars Moriendi


Some unwelcoming spell depresses the place.
A look into the mirror,
I see the devil incarnate.
Some misanthrophist in my direction

In my deserted interior is a world
Of misty windswept moorlands.

Full of thoughts, rising against the dark
I am the only one, who non omnis moritar
I am the evil one, who non omnis moritar
Non omnis moritar, Death has many faces.
Non omnis moritar I am each face of it.

Only this great dark throne is mine!



02 - The Pest Called Humanity


A spiritual cold spell fills the air,
from the depth of my soul,
I can breathe the smell of decay.
Walking on the ground of mighty Saldor,
during the hours of darkness.

Silent drops of tulwood are balming the steps,
these are the steps which bring me into the abyss.
This onielar I bring down to this earth.
Rising against the dark

Bring every zadula to the brink of run.
Bring every zadula to the brink of run!

This Onielar I bring down to this earth!



03 - Slaughtercult



04 - Saldor


Listen to the white winds of death!

The cries broke the silence of the cimonar.
Gliding between the centuries of time
And I riped their wings of life.
Their decay period started,
and I know they are destructible!
The void in the center of their hope
Despair I am.

I could never set an end to the war of attrition,
until I wiped out all these minor creatures.
I will never rest until they sunk
Into the dark mud of our tulwod.
I will never rest until they heard
My unearthly sounds of hate.

So unhappy in their deaths,
which have been so sudden.
So unhappy in their deaths,
Sudden, Violent and misterious!

DIE!!!



05 - Centuries of Mine

For Centuries of immutable frost,
these woods have been oh so dark.
Darker than the blackest of storms,
which drapes the dell in formless shadows.

A thousand tears maiming cold,
saturating an elder evil,
A malice that has been here,
For centuries of immutable frost!

Lands of lore - Lands so unpure

Even the suns shafts of gold,
shining with glorious fortitude,
begin to shiver as they forgather
with black storms of might.

Roaming these lands underneath skies,
their ghastly shades weeping in silence,
a silence that has been saddened
by centuries of mine!

Of all the trees which welcome me,
one stands utmost grim.
For this dying spirit grieves,
Harkening, at perlious times gone by...
Forlorne...
Oh thus it stands utmost grim!

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