The light is dying, left to rest
Absorbing life from these fading candles
A sorcerous path unveils the realm
Of rotten smells and dust
Wax stains on worn fake flowers
And cold slabs of marble black
Adorn the silent garden
In the glare of the votive lamps
To the death is the cult
Secret rites, a search for knowledge
Spiritismus, intents obscure
Make dawn turn into nightlight
And obey the funeral rule
An ancient presence is waiting silent
A grim protection from beyond
Cold soil, cozy shelter
Necrophile’s work is a lustful lore…
To the death is the cult
Funeral cult