1. BAPHOMET

Dualist that he was, believed in both:
A God above created all, but doesn't care,
A God below, the materia. Believe in both.

Therefore denial of Jesus Christ,
No son of God, mortal invention.

Baphomet!
I show you the crucifix and tell you
Not to believe. Spit, deny Jesus Christ for
It's not true.
Baphomet, the one we hail.

Jaques de Molay, last master of Templars,
On little flame his body reeks.
Flame agonized as underdone flesh died
And he prayed to Baphomet:

"I shall overcome this mindless society!
My executioners, they won't see another year!"

Some months passed, mysterious
Circumstances, king and pope,
Both were found in their blood.
Coincidence or Baphomet?


2. DROWNING IN BLOOD

Fifth angel blows the trombone,
Glowing star stigmatizes the earth,
Turns it into an extreme pile,
A realm of chaos, devastation and pain.

Fire devours human's inner gates,
Thresholds in our subconsciousness,
Inventions just to keep away
Bad, ugly and suicidal intentions.

Amusement of the Gods,
As we drown in our blood.

There's no need for godly intervene,
To cause apocalypse for every human being.
When innersoles do out of body pool,
They just watch for the hill.

Bloodbath all over the world,
For cruelty our souls we sold.
Suffocation in blood that's what we need.
The work from Gods will be to from the seed.

Apocalypse now done
And we die alone.
Alone!


3. MORBID KNOCKING

I'm standing at the turning lathe,
The work is nearly done.
A short look at the watch,
A small glint of hope.

But the machine is using the moment,
Picking up the thread,
Grasping at my shirt,
Threatening to devour me!

Torture and carnage and soon I'll be dead,
Morbid knocking in my head.
Torture and carnage, when will it stop?
Morbid knocking makes me a clot.

The workpiece is ending through my head,
Two thousand times in one minute.
My eyes swell and burst.
The result is enormous deformation.

Gears become the register
Of the seconds of my fading life.
The machine is splashing my warm blood
And painting macabre designs on the wall.
Fragments of bones are smelling up the air
And liquid flesh is dripping from the table constantly.

Morbid knocking! Morbid knocking!
Morbid knocking! Morbid - knocking!

The machine is raging like mad,
Playing with the last spark of my energy.
I'm still standing at the turning lathe,
But the work is done now.

The tool of horror gets slower and slower
And as it's standing still,
My hacked body is sinking to the floor
And I'm bathing in myself,
And I'm bathing in myself!