Otherworldly, pallid flesh stretched across his bones Corpse-dust clings and flies on wing surround him His voice a knife, tearing at the ear with steely tones Cattle’s blood and black kohl hide his features
From Stockholm ride to Oslo A spirit in the night His blackened heart as cold as winter’s bite A childhood of agony A life lived in twilight The man that they called Dead was dead inside
This world, a dream from which the soul cannot be freed So it seemed among the snows of Sweden Out among the forests, Dead could fleetingly find peace Before the world intruded once again
In Oslo found his brothers Descend into Helvete Long nights they worked under a freezing moon As one they conquered Leipzig The underground it shook But for Dead success was just another tomb
The intoxicating power which death holds over men Ensnared Euronymous as it had his friend The Norseman’s dark obsessions, twisted manipulation Pushed Sweden’s son towards his final end
Isolation Withdraw from sight Inhumation Hide from the light
Sat alone in the dark The bright steel piercing his veins He never felt truly alive With a gun to his head, he blew out his brains
‘Excuse the blood, but I have slit my wrists and neck. It was my intention that I should die in the woods... I belong in the woods and have always done so... To give some semblance of an explanation: I am not a human... It was too cold... I did not come up with this now, but seventeen years ago.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
