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Await the beast
Which will descend unto us
To extinct the unpure

Await the dawn
At the horizon of the dark era
To crush the weak

Await the rain
As the grat cleansing of our times
To sweep away the filth

Invisible forces pull the strings
As the puppets march into their damnation
As in death's emptiness they realize their grand isolation

You are the unborn flesh of hills covered with graves
You are the rotting wood
of what held the surfacesoil in its place
Behold the beauty of our sphere
one all vermin has been swept off her face

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