I Spew Thee out of My Mouth - The Monolith Deathcult

Shrovetide is violated by heathens

Nefarious splurges of sin

Persuasion is trembling with fever

And became a mantra of occult tongues

Mankind enclasped Doom

He turned his back on God

Virtue became ultra-decadence

We are all libertines of the damned

A Fidei Defensor arises

Flogged and whipped from head to foot

The body cleansed by self-flagellation

Supressed the lust of flesh and blood

Night after night grim voices shriek

In portentous horror dreams

Even though his room was locked

But a Seraph comes unseen

The bloodstained walls surround him

Icons made of Calvary wounds

Dreams of riddance were shattered in sin

Ill-fated to avert doom

Let me embrace my fate which was adrift and hung

I will be again the apple of his eye

Take me from among the doomed Laodiceans

Whose defamation thrilled the seething skies

The man started to cry, hands held to the sky

And expected to be purified in flames

But the Angel smiled and took the Book

And commanded his holy mandate

«The Lord foresees thy mother’s advent

Into the ranks of Paradise

So spare him grief and deep distress

And take her worthless life!»

But shall she be refined in Thine holy light?

Her spirit will shine will thousand suns

Condone my doubt, but who am I?

The haranguing priest of the newborn Herod king

The Fallen Seraph lowered his radiant mask

And showed the man the countenance of the fallen Morningstar

Night after night his skin was flogged

Damn those recurrent dreams

Desperately flogging for relief

While murmuring blasphemies

The bloodstained walls surround him

Icons made of Calvary wounds

Dreams of riddance were shattered in sin

Ill-fated to avert doom

Let me embrace my fate which was adrift and hung

I will be again the apple of his eye

Take me from among the doomed Laodiceans

Whose defamation thrilled the seething skies

«Christ, enthroned in highest heavens

Hear me crying from the deep

For the fateful ones departed

For the souls in a Laodicean sleep

King of Glory, hear my voice

Grant thy Faithful rest, I pray

I have sinned, and may not bide it

If you mark my steps astray

She is Thine, O take her quickly

Thou art her hope, O raise her high

Ever hoping, ever trusting

Unto Thee I strive and cry

Let them through thy boundless mercy

From all evil be restored

Hearken to the voices pleading

Of Thy Church, O gracious Lord!»

The Fallen Seraph lowered his radiant mask

And showed the man the countenance of the fallen Morningstar

The man seemed stricken by a thousand bludgeons

Penetrating just-healed wounds as foreplay for the storm

«So because thou art lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold

I will spew thee out of my mouth.»

(Revelations 3:16)