The waning moon in the ulcerous firmament,
Is the sickle in the hands of the wolf-jawed,
And the murder of the dog,
Tills a cunt to welcome His semen,

The key in putrephaction,
Boiling in blood and reaking dearth,
The Gold In Black...

In fields where the fruit of sapian labour rots,
And clay has turned to piceous muck,
A new effulgence is unearthed,
Blacker than the sea that enisles the stars,

The light of the funeral,
Laughing in the pyre's darkling hearth,
The Gold In Black,
The rot in bloom,
The holy ascent of Doom,

Riddles forever tangled in the fog of dream,
Drowning in mysteries strange truth attained,
And at the apex of coronation,
The black jewel splits the crown,

The roar in desolation,
Chiming in pits of charnal mirth,
The Gold In Black!

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