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RITUAL LYRICS
"Panta Rhei" (2001)
1. I.N.R.I.
2. Koraktor: Wizard’s Disciple
3. Ritus Orgy
4. Panta Rhei
5. Hesperus
6. Ivy kisses
7. Pain And Transcendence
8. Siécles (Centuries)
9. Visage of a Degenerated
10. Heretic
1. I.N.R.I.
Deep in the fullmoon night when moonshine began ruling the time, roots of the ancient eras and ages were covered by cobwebs by midnight sorcery. Those are concealed with a fume of burning crucifixes, and began desolating their mysterious side of beauty. All of sudden the Wisdom tree rising up from the obscure doctrine grew over by moss and commenced desolating as a result of what a mendacious belief condemned with its vilified slanders, and hadn’t let rise onto the light of Earth. The flame of concord was extinguished, the tangle of perfidious deeds encircled and hid all the knowledge-carrying branches as a venomous viper with its slippery body. That hideous wraith of stony looks, the rosary-twinned phantasm, its disfigured face - burnt by tears, its merciful arms are cleaved to thousands pieces. Dusty smile turned to an appaling gesture grown up from our unforgivable „sins“. Walking down within unpervedeable dark, he’s atoning and barying the burden of centuries. Potsherds of mankind’s fate will be rending his soles to blood day by day. The Era of truth has finally begun sowing its semens and its foetus will lead us out of this maze of sacrament. Away from the vanity of rejectable behaviour cursed by doom in the name of each of us. All our fingers have changed to claws and they’ll point at the path paved with eternal sorrow risen from all the Earth’s descendants that the soil was able to spawn (by blood) ... those will dominate forever on !!! Thee shall die … I.N.R.I. !!!
2. Koraktor: Wizard’s Disciple
Krabat, your life’s so similar to a stray little bird’s fate, you deflect thrusts with chill brittleness. It’s thirst for vengeance and dispersing against all the others what dwells deep inside of you, not a wrath. You’re unwanted and useless, but stars may have wanted thy death different, who or what you are supposed to defeat. You know. And nothing else consists in, as everything’s an unsubstantial water bead stream that will flow down faster than tears from your face, it’ll disappear earlier than it might obtain such a meaning ... can you feel the magic ?!?!?! Your love is reciprocated back to thee because she feels the dark as well, she loves your black wings more than her life. A thought for that moment, the mysterious melody - a song of fate that still resounds in your ears. You can’t avoid thinking of her, flying up to watch her innocence ...she’s going to deliver you once. What for words when just one passionate look into her eyes means all. The eyes that reflect all the primest forest power, no matter how mighty the Mill on the black water is. But as the nature’s getting older, the ravage of time has moved farther. There’s another victim walking towards the Mill. The boy’s come full of hope to conceal himself before inhospitable mean grudging youth, but ... „It’s time to dig a grave, we’ll see who it’ll serve for“. You know you vainly try to prevent all that’s been lost damned before. You know how to break through the Art curse - ‘tis the Black Art that wrong hands carry. This is Koraktor and your life will be preserved save in raven’s heart, forever - what an endless connection between two realms, the beyond and the Earthly. This book is called - Koraktor.
3. Ritus Orgy
Passing the cemetary walls, stone by stone groping in celestial wilderess. He fell maybe a thousand times from beyond the clouds and set out for a quest of the astraied time that could barely escape far away and let drift itself in the air. Fiery face scorched his artless ideas of mind composure, and he still keeps paddling through the wide land of unrealized dreams, on his steed’s back. He damned his forsaken conscience which he has never had as he’d lose it in the final shout of war anyway. This is Ritus Orgy, on the way through the night … Victory or disappointment - who shall decide, he walks on and on after all. Although he’d hardly fell his own disgrace with his feeble arm. This is Ritus Orgy, on the way through the night, there he parts from with no return. Across the hostile rivers and swamps he feels something latent in the wind, but he’s unsable to descry the flickering flame of the dark Heresy. Someone’s concealed it into the depths of mountains, so the one could revere and safeguard his kin. And so he carried on standing rigidly on the edge of the lake, and covertly watching distant horizons reflected in the surface of the lake, to tap where the brought tidings of the end will come from. Only one wish to have - just or a while to be transfered unto the depths of kingdom - where the primitive principle rules; that states of the Earthly reality that’s totsllx different. After all he knows what it’s like, drunk he penetrates through the vital-affording yet grudging water onward the opposite shore where he could get off his burden. Really ??? Dead !!!
4. Panta Rhei
Its calling’s getting closer like the clouds that hide my planet with the unknown. You’re my first and the last star that illuminates me stride boundly the path I predetermined myself. You’re the first messenger of night that fills the empty space in my body entirely like in an abandoned sentiment devoted to a tree odour, which urges me to watch things others could merely dream of. Stay the same you forever are now, and even though we’ve been succumbed to nothingness for so long, thus our decline’s becoming worse; thee’ll stay an everlasting unattainable target of mine. Life is a neverending dream and one can solely await the coming of his surface dispatch. Then he will decease ... and keeps waiting until another poor life enters again ???
5. Hesperus
What’s taking place inside of me, is an incessant struggle - not a battle of two souls, but a war of thousands of demons who know exactly what to conquer and how. Each vanquishes the remaining ones to rule continuously the very next moment, but I’m always barely able to idlely watch myself bleed ... when the flesh broils in its own gravy containing my past and future visions. And so we try to survive in the inner worlds of ours that will, once, forever disappear without our guilt. Time like sand falls down from my palms and the black color justifies exactly my comprehending which turns my bewaring sight away from the heaven … There still is a strange wind blowing within the tree branches. Enchanting sun rays pervade them and the eyes are staring through ... Nature isn’t dying, it’s just falling asleep, those fallen leaves remind me of the moments when I still had a hope deep inside of me. Nevertheless I know where I belong - in spite of all the acrid immaterial pain, now I’m returning back to the nature as I’ve always been one of its constituents, perhaps more than a son. Panta Rhei torment’s thenceforth …
6. Ivy kisses
We are the careworn souls, a portrait of magic was carved to our heartshapes. We’re dying in sleepless nights, oh, vainly we try to find the inner serenity, underneath the black sun in the sky. A few voluptuous ivy kisses, they are hot and heartfelt like an endless life journey, and nothing will make their pain go away. Empty feelings full of sights of the frowned faces that hide everlasting dolour, oh, so young. We’re full of passion, hate, anger and grief. The chains of dailiness bind us there’s no escape. My inner voice summons the cry of the ages that drowns in the obscurity („Spirit of the wood, save my soul !!!“) - and the cry be my desperate destiny. Only the wistful sound of sublime tones can save in the captivity our contemplative minds from the melancholy. Being scared of ourselves, we can look through all the mighty sceneries and all around seems to be watched through black glass, where the blood of manuscript drips down. Living in a world where there’s no cure to be found that would ever heal up the thrusts inflicted by fate on the consciousness that is so fragile anyway. Lives like marble statues conceal the treasures of eternity. Endeavouring to descry a hint of the principle of existence, abortively we hold our arms towards the gates ...
7. Pain And Transcendence
Folk of the wood and sacred cult of the Hawk hasn’t survived in vain before the land turned to dust. The descendants of Lithos bequeathed nothing for preserving the monuments of the Castaway mankind, only legacy of the further journey has remained. Vainly he rejected the favour that everyone requested. He knelt down, his head was lowered and a continuous mourning far in the distance, was the only thing he was able to hear … ‘Twas the time to get prepared for the journey...
8. Siécles (Centuries)
There are four years left as there are four riders of the Apocalypse rushing towards us. And he who fortold their arrival may have travelled through the time. When he will penetrate through the dust of Mars and hunger, misery and fear will spread their reign. The infection is creeping to unleash the war in black it’s tidingsing the plague, there will remain no stone in order, no soil on the dryland no sand on the ground … only a painful choir. The spiral will turn over, because the core is half-rotten. And we must cut it out to provide roots for the new living. I don’t believe he lies. Well, we’ll wait till the seventh month. We’ll allow the gloominess of being to regale over us. And I as an emperor of terror will ignite the „East“, let it burn !!! And let the shattered walls fall down
9. Visage of a Degenerated
I transmit my soul, now I’m a void stooge in the claws of a pretentious benefactor. Creator of thoughtless thesis and spurious doctrine. I’m a miserable orthodox moron, I’m degenerated with my absurdity. I’ve lost everything what’s worthy of being honest. My tongue was torn out, my brain was knocked out, beacuse they split my skull open with their cross. What is a word, what is a thought for me ? Though I’m only a figure of this spiritual farce. And the really wonderful myths … My body has already thrilled. Thinking about a clean soul, entering the precious heaven paradise. Fortunatelly, my hand is led by the saviour’s „true being line“. Oh, what a dull asceticism has clouded over me, this is gratefully my real form. However, here’s my tragedy that I’m too hear sighted to show characteristics of myself. Though I can’t say ‘cause I’m not. I’m merely a fragment, sperm of fatality deformed by the what I so rapturously worship
10. Heretic
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