Album: Sphere Of Nebaddon (The Dawn Of A Dying Tyffereth) (1995)

...Of Inexistency


To suffer in real dreams
Setting up an insensatible ocular sensibility
The bruises disperses on an obscure mantle
Morbid figures close my frustration

I exalt the suffering
I carfy myself to the obscene fantasy
Formed by the reticule immersed in blood

Absorbs the lethargy which exceeds inside
The transcedency of life turns complex

Turned to the worshipness in the scrapping
The dawn turns black in front of the history
Perfect characters, afflicted convulse
Indenominated creations sacrifice themselves
Prophetised solemnity of the analogies
Divine themselves by stagnant apathetic forms