The Past is Like a Funeral

Sometimes when I visit the landscapes of the shadows

Something that recalls the grave

Hides in the hellish depths and awaits

When I dream, it peeks into empty goblet

(and) becomes the wine of ecstasy and licentiousness

I know the one in a flock said: "Watch out, watch out"

But I will not go away till I taste the sweetness of your body

No matter it poisons and causes death

The past is like an eternal funeral

Years, thousands of them, I rotted in a monastic cell

I resembled a stone, hiding my murderous self in silence and fear

I lasted in the infinity of meditations and contamplations

Waiting for the deserved dream, there on the holy land

And its taste and coldness I remember

Bare-foot digging my own pit

I was kissing it as if the sweetest lover and begged

But was the sandto become my salvation

Or worms the people on the court of light

The past reeks of an oak coffin, so wet and old

Burning dirty claws in the wooden eyes of Jehova

I killed mercy, spotting on the laws of god

I celebrated the birth of power

I fall in love with freedom and the beast

And I spat out the Antichrist from my morbid womb

In order to give life to alvine grain

And concentrate the birth of human tragedy & destruction

I envisaged myself as a great magician

Althought they called armageddon the whore

Today I celebrate my birth, though I am elder than the world

The past only sometimes is like the sind

That we grave-digger throws in your eyes.