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Conditioned to suffer these trials alone.
Ignoble chorus rattles round your tomb.
The great deceptor, see what he sees.
Vista of emptiness, misery.

Cold burn of separation.
A wretched prison of your own creation.
And as your body decays you think of what you'd do to see the light of day,
To bask amongst the seven suns celestial rays.
Torpefied by life's arcana.
Immobilised, your own detainer.

Vindictive creation leads your decline.
A thousand voices with prying eyes.
The unrelenting, crushing om.
You seek salvation but evil consumes your soul.

Descent toward ritual sin.
The walls are closing in.
Reflect in steel you see my final form.
No rest for the wicked. Total War.

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