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VELONNIC SIN LYRICS
"Ritual" (2005)
1. Auriga
2. The Angel's Invective
3. Ritual
4. Over The Lethe
5. Pestilent Hands
6. Emissary Of Night
7. The Daemon
8. Ghost Of Sorrow
1. Auriga
I was spawned - an unsavory birth
Reared from a cripple's
Seed upon the Earth.
Fleshed in scales, ophidian form,
Undulating amid derision and scorn -
Athena conferred my immortality,
But held by the blight of deformity.
An aberration - best left to die,
Nurtured, presented, swathed in jewels,
To an indolent host, whose aged eye
Condoned two avaricious hands.
But each felt twin cuspate brands,
And both daughters fell,
Dissolved of skin, their death-wails
Tolling like a penitent knell.
I leapt on a surpassing manhood -
Auriga's four-horse chariot,
Fiercely driven to strike,
Escutcheon bearing Medusa's
Head upon a goat-skinned cloak.
Pallid emblems fell, routed,
As blood splattered from spilled steel;
I then was crowned in obsidian gems
While opponents defected, kneeled.
The wrathful trident of Poseidon
Was held aloft with reprisal;
His armada roared in opposition,
Ermined with spearing composition.
No amnesty in reach, no Olympian's
Relent, just corpses on the ruby shore.
Many years ruled I,
Then, consumed by Time,
Placed upon the stars,
Draped with Aegis's shine -
2. The Angel's Invective
The Angel's Invective
Beqa's eyes discerned with envy
The Creator's Holy Throne.
But without the appellation,
Heaven he could not own.
A mind of calm sedition,
A trodden, bitter silence;
He confided in an archangel
Who stood with reverence.
Michael launched his steel devout,
Stripped Beqa's rank and crown,
Who recoiled into Shadow,
Then Kasbel he was known.
The betrayer wrought a plan
Among sinister, darkened kin,
Invoking sacrilegious shouts,
Against his principal sin.
At the crystal gates of Araboth,
Angels reined on porcelain steeds,
Wielding heavy brands of fire,
In panoplies of molten lava.
Slain apostates splayed the skies,
Their leader Kasbel fell
To a dank, ravenous abyss
Where only shadows dwelled.
Then labeled Satan - the Enemy Divine,
He sought vengeance on humankind.
The enlightenment of Earth:
Mortals bathed in putrid fruit,
For human sin was born
From a serpent bearing scorn.
Satan defied the written truths;
A balance that contrasts
The psychopathic Son of Man
With an illusory God.
3. Ritual
Ritual
A rotting, putrid land,
Frail as venous clay
I sever my thin mass
From Earth's devoted prey.
Hircus-tongue, seize the fire,
Beneath a graying twilight,
To deport this rank humankind,
Into a wintry, aphotic sky.
In chronic irreverence,
This sworn, malignant rite
Churned the lord's sanctum
Into a lidless night.
A spherical glow
Begot the decadent purge
Of a captive fall of lambs;
The shriek of Heaven's
Celestial dirge.
Devour the flesh of God,
Afloat the crimson sod.
The Ritual brought no repose.
For naught but smoke and mist arose;
Though consumed by dreams I saw -
Horned and hooved - the wicked He-Goat:
His loom roared sinful in effigy;
I sank, wailed, as glottal
Words were shorn
From his tongue - I, dismal, fell
With rapt fear, as though snarled by
A soulless, callous, abysmal wind.
4. Over The Lethe
We crashed the raping, ruinous waves
Of Acheron and the tremulous Styx,
To stand defiled before the Lethe—
Memorial souls dying in our midst.
The river spewed a gelatinous rime—
And buried by the jagged frost,
Filed souls drank their fill
And fell in a spiritual holocaust.
Next came I—the water gaped
To dissolve my lifelong sorrow;
I knelt and cupped black purulence—
Drank, but rescinded my swallow.
For too much untold grief,
Lies dormant on the Lethe;
Death fades no treading pain
Of the soul that draws its breath.
Etched upon the cresting cry
Stands the scar of mortal kin;
My elder lying breathless
His son a trench of sin.
I surfaced from her womb,
Memories in tow;
Sunken eyes, wrought with tides
Of the agony below.
I wailed for those disheartened, lost;
And, harboring the vile Lethe,
I spat it on the affluent brow
Of the white deliverer’s face.
5. Pestilent Hands
Long after the shade of Heaven was cast,
Those fallen had begun their cries and cants
Unto thee I invoke my wrath
Gadereel vied with ministerial cants
To redeem his place in the darkness vast.
And with a scabrous, seething voice
Declared he the fourth vengeance onto man;
A grizzled bane on the land of man,
So the scythe may again rejoice.
Through your passion, save us, O Lord
Bordered in thick timber cots
The infected wailed and gasped,
In their lonesome skin they gasped,
Lymph nodes bulging like hempen knots.
The flagellants passed, and in low plainsong,
Called the firmaments to absolve their wrongs.
Exiled to roam the mangled lands.
They assumed a sordid eye,
Inside the storm of Heaven’s eye.
Untouched by a vicar’s healing hands.
Jointly they marched in self-abuse
To garner salvation from their Lord
To beseech forgiveness from their imprudent Lord
And die, repentant, with their benighted Jesus.
Death soon apprized the world
(England) 1348, felt the strain
The epidemic and its black strain--
Pestilential retribution unfurled.
Unto thee I invoke my death
6. Emissary Of Night
7. The Daemon
Daemon Daemon, burning bright
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
Under what calm and bloodless moon
Did tear my thought's sinews?
From what recess does He peer? --
Such sightless command of fear.
And what eyes, or what call,
Could fit the margins of my soul?
And when this beckon fills my head,
Take it madness, peace, or dread?
Rend away such thoughts of He,
For this wrath inside me screams.
What this image edged in night's shade?
What the grasp of red orbs ablaze?
When the Deities crash the land,
And their blood soils the sand;
Did he-- the Tyger to the Lamb
come as the Daemon to Man?
Daemon Daemon, burning bright
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
*(inspired by William Blake's "The Tyger")
8. Ghost Of Sorrow
Of her death-- as in my Casket;
I feel the Sovereign seasons fly
Raw upon the biding Earth,
Dragging the Frame inside which I lie.
My Rapture, soiled by loss,
Like my form, defiled by Time.
And Pain: Tears on reminding mold--
An Abyssal depth consumed by repine.
While Buried in gloom,
-- Though wood often drones,
And filed feet drum false hope,
For time holds no spade--
My mind still atrophies,
As fleshy white worms
Stem a musty life-worn plea--
The slow recession into shrouded vision.
In prayer to Gods unsent,
While crows caw my obsequies,
The coffin-- like the heart-- is made for
Interment, with Bereavement's
Scorching, wooden dirge.
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