---

No temple

A dungeon

Begotten from pure flesh

Created to suffer

A senseless existence

A yearning

For the choking embrace of the rope

A yearning

For the final hot kiss of the muzzle

A yearning

For the cutting caress of the blade

A yearning

For pain and all transitory

Begotten to perish

The same flesh, the same blood

But all is corrode

Will the yearning become greed?

Hidden, behind my own flesh

Invisible.

An absolute darkness

My yearning will be my gift to you

A gift of pain

Lay down in shit

Pray for all the things...

...for all with I'm finished

Beatam mortem exspectans...