Cult of a Dying Sun

Confined in hopeless valleys
Stricken with vast veil of shadow
No light will reach beyond these mountains
There’s more comfort to be found among gallows

We’re lost within the pitch of gloom
As night-tide piles the dead ashore
The breathless laugh in the face of dreams
And the subsisting smirk midst scaling banks of gore

Decomposing tower
Self-generating cadaverous Gate to Abaddon

Lining lungs with azure plage
All will succumb to putrefaction

And we crawl higher, over the dying
Without remorse, for life we’re prying
And we push forward, we march on
Into nothing, where we belong