Paroles de Pale Brethren

Meajsty, broke the bread in two Etched in it a caricature smiling wickedness Frothing vulture leering from the fire Miscarriage of phoenix! Rises on pallid wings Pray be the air that taketh it Divorced from beyond, spun from silt Foul breath, stringent Be cast and dispel Lest distraught the blooming fields May thy bowels rot Poison what is left of thy insipid fetish The burning smoke of it Raise me to the outer Circle the moon and be forever in search of the true brethren My trail, ashen in wake, a path for all to see Return will I, my cycle is tenfold Yet to be seen here They are to come Dispatch thy monarch Burn thy altars We are, they are...