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In the wilderness of shooting nature
a soothing calm ascended
yet bearing an athmosphere
that threatens the illusion of safety
Under the waxing moon
A horned figure plays the harp
Bringing terrifying chords
For those who have the courage to listen
Voices rooted in darkness
We degrade him not as the servant
of the sick and the wicked
But raise him as the king
for the wandering flock
Fauns and satyrs crawling under His feet
Give me the sign of the Open eye
Give me the sign of this Open eye
Come with the trumpets of those sounding shrill
Do what thou wilt as great god can
IO PAN, IO PAN, IO PAN!
IO PAN, IO PAN, IO PAN!
IO PAN, IO PAN, IO PAN!
Do what thou wilt as great god can
IO PAN, IO PAN, IO PAN!
Do what thou wilt as great god can
IO PAN, IO PAN, IO PAN!
Voices rooted in darkness
We degrade him not as the servant
of the sick and the wicked
But raise him as the king
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In Thy eyelids is the lightning nested,
O, Great Son of the Dragon, spawn of the Bornless One,
without a soul you travel like a cheetah in a twilight
hunting the ones who casts a shadow
How I ever could bypass your mark on the side of this flower?
How I ever found your fingerprints like beautiful hieroglyphics,
repeating the story of the leaves from a dying tree of life?
Like a cipher of the Soul's death on the surface of Oceans,
shall the arcanes of Hades be the great halls of Thou rapture
of the feasts of virgin blood and raging ecstasy
shall Thou become the image of yourself
Binah, Chesed, Chiah; Thy Voices are Four
Draw, draw the flower of swords
to shed the blood of Souls
into fragments of the first Temple
In the dawn of an end,
in the blossom of Narcissus,
sand shall fall but Thou art there,
forever chained to the inmost of sense,
to the sacrifice of souls those never witnessed,
waiting another of our Order
for not to come...
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