Of Darkness Spawned

The Black Dahlia MurderThe Black Dahli… 

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The Black Dahlia Murder

The Black Dahlia Murder is an American metal band from Waterford, Michigan, formed in 2000. Their name is derived from the 1947 unsolved murder of Elizabeth Short, often referred to as Black Dahlia. The band comprises vocalist Trevor Strnad, guitarists Brian Eschbach and Ryan Knight, bassist Max Lavelle and drummer Shannon Lucas. Out of their five studio albums, the latest four of them charted on the US Billboard 200, with 2009's Deflorate peaking at No. 43 and their latest album Ritual reaching No. 31. more »

Year:

2007

72 Views

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(Pretenders to the throne) Kneel before him, appalling wretched demon king. Praise be to us, his children, spawns of evil's reckoning. Doomed from inception, claiming fire as our home. Licked by flames our steel grows stronger to be forged in hate forevermore.
A hellish scorn quickly approaches violent climax. Infernal legions, the time nears when we'll strike. The shadows serving to enshroud us, our blackened hearts. Those forgotten looming just beyond their sight.
The blood of pariahs through our veins. Sin and Hell our mainstay, forever to remain. O' to ye wicked ones, an ode of blood, a reaper's song, demons born of man's sickest desire, those of the darkness spawned.
Fires of Hell, I stroke thee high through the open gates ever so wide, bury me in sin. The daggers have been raised, now let's begin. The margins of sanity blur into night. As one we'll move beyond the light, murder effortlessly without a tear, our motives to them never clear.
Damn this liar's world, we are the truth you've all awaited, impaling holy fallacy, the filthy blood of Christian seed. Akin to the looming serpent we've patiently anticpated.
The time to rise is upon us. My lord, I kneel before you, now paint me bloody red. Bathing in blasphemy, I beat the path that's traveled less. The forgotten, your minions, our souls are black. We are the thousands in the darkness awaiting to attack.
[Solo]
Infernal legions, their heads shall be your prize, trophies to our dominion of conquests only fantasized.
O' to ye wicked ones, an ode of blood, a reaper's song, demons born of man's sickest desire, those of the darkness spawned. Fires of Hell, I stroke thee high through the open gates ever so wide, bury me in sin. The daggers have been raised.
Oh the dance of death, she's a sweet one. To our victory we will drink

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