Obire Pestis

OBIRE PESTIS (Suicidal Ruin)

 

This morbid night melancholy

Moon of funerals broods

Mist rising from the swamps

Where superstitions are alive

Frogs and crickets pleases me

Though not long will my ears hear

Not long will I howl at the moon

The end already creeps on my tongue

 

Between old suffering trees

I still see that which reminding me

Of a time sorrow had reigned

With hope crushed underneath

A regent to the throne of black memory

Lost, forgotten and waiting for Hell

Asking why I left at all

Where are my weapons and dreams

 

There is no death to save me

I have never lived

Obire Pestis

Morbid night melancholy