Obire Pestis Suicidal Ruin

This  morbid  night  melancholy

Moon  of  funeral  broods

Mist  rising  from  the  swamps

Where  superstitions  are  alive

Frogs  and  crickets  please  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  reminded  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