Xasthur
      A Gate Through Bloodstained Mirrors

  Dwell Beneath the Woods of Evil
  
The forest is your grave
With a worthless meaning on your stone
(Thrones for the dead) are dwelling beneath the woods
Lingering souls, dead bodies never found
Dissonant shrieks in your mind, fear is all around
Old only grows and youth only withers
A hateful breeze collapsing all lungs and trees
Connected they are by a trance, a desolation within
The beauty of solitude as become alive,
becoming of a death more real
There must be hate in the grip of the frost
A path of crushed souls and breaking bones
Gateways into unseen deaths
Landscapes flood in lakes of tears and blood
Portals destined to be lost, are dwelling beneath the woods


  Storms of Red Revenge

In the name of their bastard son
They murdered our forests and beliefs
So your god will forgive?
Yet I shall never!
Our time has come
Hatred was the spell
Chosen as our weapon
Murdering, killing one by one,
Stench of death reaches the sky,
And this time their heaven falls
In the storms of red revenge.


  A Spell Within the Winds

Bleed on the memories (and image in mind)
Your blood''s on thy flame
The candles of black burning in the night
I watched the smoke blowing to the south
The watching moon closing in on you
Summon the eye of death to follow you
Your blood burns within the black candles flame
He grants me your destruction as a I scream death''s name, can you feel my hate!
And the spell blew forever, forever in the cold wind
Your death was the taste, the taste of revenge
While no one saw the doom I cast into your eyes.


  Gate Through Bloodstained Mirrors

Paint in blood a sigil of death on fading reflections beneath this night.
Master of their infernal fears, I take the burning gates ... to reign.
Pass this torch of evil (so I may be).
Through candlelit bloodstained Mirrors, to succumb to the netherworld of Satan.
I became as I Stare through the eyes of my mirror master...


  Black Spell of Destruction/Channeling the Power of Souls into a New God (Burzum Cover)
  
Hear my Sword
...in the Making
Of my Spell
Literally
Damkuna, Iftraga
Sheb Nigurepur, Dafast
The World's Tragedy, Is Served at My Feast