The Synarchy Of Molten Bones

O Father
 Latros
 Witness thou anon
 Mists above
 Exhalations below
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 I shall forevermore be betwixt all things
 Preventing communion
 Shielding off the weakening beams of salvation
 Shining upon the mournful gloom of Earth
 Je vois la semence des os faisant lever des tombes
 A dreadful interval, sly foundation of ruin
 And breathe warring winds, racking hail
 Where just this Morn thrice beloved concord was
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 Hearken this hideous peal as they drink the water
 Of Styx, for all things shall become my prey
 The water of Acheron, as they silence fragile weeping
 With horrent arms; the water of Cocytus
 To laugh at the laments of the Holy Dead
 Yon boiling water of Phlegeton, cataracts
 Of fire alike, and the water of Lethe
 For what shall remain, even in memories
 But a livid seat of ever renewing desolation?
 Hearken thunder from below, like growling gods
 Who erupt to be released and bare their fangs
 A long shudder shakes the world as
 Rising upon the bleak horizon, swell into lifeless life
 The Commandments that shall sanctify the reign
 Of the Specter that gnaws upon Man like
 Je suis l'urne horrible et vide du néant
 Hounds chew on bones and offal
 The Synarchy of Molten Bones shall consist
 Of Men of worth and Men of ill intent
 In abandoned yet equal numbers
 For their insurgent wills harbor
 The seed of transgression alike
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 This seed shall bloom with noxious flowers
 Borne out of the mordant steel of scythes
 Justice will die first
 To the hammering sound of tears watering the Earth
 As aught hope remains to reverse course