Abazagorath - Pitch Black Tomb

Pitch Black Tomb
Seduced by this morbid autumn
To rest in its eternal slumber
The end follows not far behind

Ashes of my heathen pride
Shall sow the seeds of our future
Ashes of a tormented soul
Shall glow in the flames below

Rusted nails pierce my flesh
Salt pouring into my wounds
Echoing screams to deaf ears
Driving my own hearse down
Into hell....... hell
I am death My abhorrent spectre haunts
So it is the autumn of my soul

Expanding and contracting
In the winds of fire
My transparent decay fades
In remembrance....

Bitter is the taste
Of the grief
In my very soul

My grave... so cold
My grave... pitch black tomb
My grave... exists no more...