Praise Be To Thee, Twin Evils

By: Thelino Posted on: December 30, 2005

Ancient time, from places deep,
In catacombs, where dark things sleep -
The time is nigh, tis' fit to reap
As darkness lapses, foul and steeped

Rise from the earth, fell childer of
That bleakest cause, the Ebon Glove;
Of Death's dear unrequited love,
I now call forth that ashen dove.

Raise high with rage your sullied tone
With wrath of steel, claws, and bone.
Let pierce the night the wail and moan
To crush the hardest hearts of stone.

Give praise to our Lord Shaitan, He
Who rent the veil life cannot see
And gave to us the fortress key;
Left bleached the bones of those that flee.

Bloody Warrior, Horned King,
In staff, in spear, in blade, in sling
Upon the bitter war front's ring
Of battle does Thy dictum sing.

Apollyon, the Lord of Lies,
Who sacrificed one of His eyes;
Whose wicked woven web of lies
Reveals to wise servants His prize

Deceitful Tyrant, ruby eyed
Whose tenets shall not be decried.
For suffering, known far and wide
Can grant its victims time to bide.

The Crimson Mist - our bitter winds,
Be that the wound that never mends;
Upon the Earth your power rends
That verdant menace Nature tends.

Evils twain, accept our souls
To propagate Thy darkest goals;
When skies turn black, and thunder rolls
To claim the lives of whom Thee tolls.

Take course fell hymn, and hear my cry!
As death approaches from on high;
From earth and soil come those to die
Again beneath this Ebon sky