Foscor
			Onslaught of Black Putrefaction

1. Necrosadist - 
													Incision Is Release

Self-proclaimed sculptor; artist of the flesh.
Healing, changing: work of art, carnal masterpiece.
Eternally blended and burned - scarred within the soul.
Painting deep into canvas skin...

Witness now:
Distorted perspective - abstract poetry;
Suffering for one's art in the truest sense.

Tools glide across the whitest surface; jagged, sharp and cold.
Pale, monochrome redemption.
I am God himself: shape-shifting, deforming.
Painting deep into canvas skin...

This is the true chaos of flesh.
This is the monolith - my temple.
Swallow me whole, engulf me in the Chaos,
Shattered mirror of perceptions...

Creativity in destruction captured in artistic form,
Introspection, self-dissection: the art of gore.

I have become of His eyes and thus I do His work.
You are nothing but flesh.


2. Foscor - 
													The Others' Voice

Have you listened to the voice of the others?
When? While death brings faith
Blares across the flair
And come so cold to break the heart
And sick reborn

Journeys of sorrow, moments as holes
Translate the code of punishment
A knife could be a useful dodge
Dismembering thoughts and emotions
And groping towards the Void
Ridding fast to the sense
To converge...could be then.
Mindless groans, useful wounds
Shadows spread, deep stabwounds
And flows
Go on!

Alongside, the razor comes
Two eyes appear with ravenous blow
Alongside, the razor cuts
Two hands prepared to be a useful norm
And run! Surround the noise
And bring it up, don't fear the voices
The brain distorted, its vision goad
Nostalgia burnt, results to know the other voices
It swallows love, death could come
And bring once more her faith beyond the row.