The Golden Cadaver

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The Stone

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A soul profoundly macabre locked in the golden cadaver
Put in a dream as a timeless wreckage
Like a wound that breathes the sordid sighs of sardonic might
Which by night ignites the flames of our end

Such flames are burnt in an empty hearts of men
Nailed to their coffins and carved to their death
Banished from their flesh (an entity of the dying kind), abandoned from their pain
Such ominous fires burn to sermonize the hate of slain

A soul so deeply macabre, dwelled in the golden cadaver
Put to (the) death as a timeless bane
Like a cry of a blind eye with no tears to soak the flames of the end

Through the void they seek the eternal bliss of the cadaver
The atrocity, the ferocity of the mourning bell
As the flames arise from the wooden shroud, shape the crimson cloud
From the golden mist comes the Devil's gist, sets the world to burn, viciously

Through the void I've reached the eternal bliss of the cadaver
As the yellow mist cut my life and twist it to nothingness
While my soul arises from the wooden shroud, shapes the crimson cloud
Putting life behind the golden walls that once were flesh

Cold and pale is the silent vale of the cadavers
There the essence of men comes to an end, proclaiming death

A soul profoundly macabre unlocked from the golden cadaver

Wherefore the flames arose from the wooden shroud and shaped the crimson cloud
And with the golden mist came the Devil's gist, set the world to burn

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