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ǝʇɐɔoʌpɐ s,†ıʌǝǝp ǝɥʇ - frost bite and brimstone lyrics
[intro: daemonum]
tnanevoc dewollah eht gnimehpsalb ,seltsopa eht fo selgna eht dna ,yrotcer eht eb desselb
deevil! deevil! it’s daemonum, i’m back
frist service
[verse 1: daemonum]
i darken lamps and quell the sun when i enter the room
followed by an overcast cloud, as i perpetuate gloom
i’ll leave your daughter conversing with demons
listen to my legion preach to a weeping deacon
gazing out a window–
with a pentagram necklace, pushing pins in a voodoo doll
fbi marching around my dwelling like the jerusalem wall
kicking the base of the judas cradle, getting answers that way
tapping dying embers off the tip of my cigar, into the ash tray
convening with the seven princes of h-ll, the sky was blood that day
at least have some decency, playing russian roulette with a priest, at least he’s in pieces, see
blessings are the last thing i receive, dark scrolls, spells and hexagrams define my typical evening scene
papyrus leaves and some charcoal, sketching a pentagram next to the hieroglyphics for stress release
i don’t need the divine to declare that i’m d-mned
when the planets align, i’ll stop snorting lines off my nightstand
i’m saturnine at best, drinking away the memory of my dead hand
witchcraft is a bad habit, i toss in the virgin blood, cow eye and wolf hair
dipping a concubine’s femur in the cauldron and stir it with a serpent’s prayer
swearing ne’er-do-well, it’s ardent animus— i don’t condone it, i represent it
gripping a h-llsceptre, beguiling the sermonizers— and when i said it, i meant it
selling the seven sins just to see it prosper, antagonizing the anagnosts, now repent it
[hook: daemonum]
frost bitten fire and brimstone, h-ll hath frozen over, snowflakes and ashes of the marauder
this is for all the conjurers and summoners, flaming rings and batches of matches for fodder
ecclesiastic apostasy, an orgy of clergywomen— i have your daughter in here with me, father
[interjection: daemonum]
second service
[verse 2: daemonum]
who am i? there are better questions that need our attention
like; why make a song when you have nothing of worth to mention?
you make noise and jot words but all that comes out is pretension
your prosaic psittacism bores my twisted soul and lacks dimension
you’ll be the next vulgar display of the abominable sciences
grimy reinforced windows funnel the distorted view of the rusted appliances
i sit reposed on the throne, idly awaiting the delivery of the chained priestess
at the table with angels, occultists, apostles and demons to discuss the elitists
calculated rituals and blood stains on the amice, got the ostiarius walking up to the alter
unsheathed the sacramental blade and bade him forward, to read from the psalter
we can act holy and i’ll be the curate but as for you diseased heathens, i can’t cure it
lepers and leeches beseech me to release the antidote to indolence as if it’s in a burette
i don’t fix talentless lames, back off; i’ve got my hands full, tying this nun’s hands together
emptied this chalice of blood just to put the wine in, prepare the host no matter the weather
this is for all my people, the syndicate of sinners supporting this sinister skullduggery
we’ll be lighting cigars with a blow torch and the money of the populous, all and sundry
got my feet up on my marble desk, smoking the ashes of my rival’s family out of his skull
oxfords rocking lightly, with my legs crossed at the ankles, pondering the irrevocability of it all
next time i make an appearance, they’ll make a try for my life, but that comes with the territory
take my ball point pen and sign at the dotted line, join me in this quest of flagrant outlawry
if we were drinking kool-aid here, my friend, we wouldn’t be so near the nadir of excellence
i’m cynical, unscrupulous and rouge, with a meat cleaver for those acting as if they have relevance
acolytes and archdeacons forced to into kitchen witchery, as h-ll freezes over from seeing my soul
[hook: daemonum]
frost bitten fire and brimstone, h-ll hath frozen over, snowflakes and ashes of the marauder
this is for all the conjurers and summoners, flaming rings and batches of matches for fodder
ecclesiastic apostasy, an orgy of clergywomen— i have your daughter in here with me, father
[outro: daemonum]
still on my craft, daemonum doing his thing
это коррупции
להיות חכם שוטה
are haters still at it? pray for em’ friend, so be it
Ʇno ןıʌǝǝp
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