| <Miasmal> page <Miasmal> album page |
MistsEvoke the fate that's undeniableA mantra for the end to come Release the contained remorse For the lost, derelict ones The elements of nothingness The colours that are void Will rise and grow, beneath our beliefs Of a golden, sacred throne This is the world Of squalor's creation Our lives will follow through Into a mourning damnation At the altars of sorrow Where we worship our loss Our knees will take root in the soil Our bodies feeding the moss Writing inconsequent formulas With upside down numbers These stillborn ideas will fade Dissent into the obscure, into mists of closure |