Texty písní Dead Congregation

Dead Congregation


The dry heads of the young ones

Staring at me await the hour,

Mouths halted mid-scream

Eyes black with death

A golden lamen 'neath each tongue

Adorned by sings obscure

A body of weeds 'neath each wreck

Ritually prepared and bound

In the lamp's flickering light

I stare them in the eye

Shadows dance their faces

Their gaze returns mine

Demons howling backwards

Trees move in the breeze

My mind starving for reason

When with one voice they speak