Blood And Gore

Broken mirrors lie in shattered shards, scattered on a sodden floor

Lethal splinters beneath a splattered ceiling, in the blood and gore

Offal spills from butchered guts and sightless eyes no longer weep

On a pale face there're clotty pools, as brains from a fracture seep

Death remembers naught of pain and fear, or a wielding of an axe

And the gratuitous violence of a madman's, unappeasable attacks

Now that we have lost our minds, now is my time to write a wrong

Despair likes to share, but only silence trips from a bloated tongue

God wasn't by your side tonight (or ever) but the devil lurks within

Odious evil presence, stole my razor blade to strip away your skin

Revulsion's my compulsion, but the matter that's you is inside out

Even so though, I see in your lifeless eyes a shadow cast of doubt

 

Where Demons Dwell

Where demons dwell, well you know it's hell defined

Here is not where I was, this is not my unwired mind

Every dark thought I conceived I hid in a lucid dream

Razing them in pyres, cremating the absurd obscene

Evil sated me, as hate baited me and I took the hook

Drowning in self loathing, but for my soul I didn't look

Eddying memories left me riding the demented mare

My apocalyptic psyche crumbling into a raven's stare

On the outside I am inside out and my eyes are glass

Nothing lives within, just my demons reflections pass

Satan sired them in brimstone, in my head they roam

Devouring like manic maggots in their festering home

Watch me carefully, or observe, with a second glance

Examine me closely, I'm not in control, I'm in a trance

Like a lamb now, I am wandering on a windswept fell

Leaving behind my neurosis, or where demons dwell

 

Raised In Hell

Raised in Hell, one of three, all forged in dragon fire

Astaroth, is from the flaming pit, of the burning shire

In faux gods we trust, as the others revere his name

Sent to condemn and damn us, with his dying flame

Evil trinitarian, there is nothing in his stagnant heart

Darkness is his domain and his horrors a form of art

Insane in second sight and eyes like piercing tracers

No one lives in his gaze, or claws as sharp as razors

He will avenge, by using garrotting wires for snitches

Endearing himself, to old banshees and hag witches

Let no one doubt, that he is aligned to Hades throne

Lords of the unholy trinity though, never gorge alone