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The Legion: "A Bliss To Suffer" – 2009

энциклопедия: The Legion

Состав группы:

  • Emil Dragutinovic – ударные
  • Rikard Kottelin – гитара
  • David Svartz – гитара
  • Lazr Martinsson – вокал, бас

The Legion: "A Bliss To Suffer" – 2009

Композиции:

  1. Shining Redemption
  2. Call Of The Nameless Black
  3. A Toil Beneath The Skin
  4. Blood, Be Gone!
  5. A Curse For The Dead
  6. The Luring Depths
  7. The Inimical
  8. Man-Beast
  9. The Reaping Of Flesh And Blood

Лирика

1. Shining Redemption

Time stands still as if stunned by a will much greater than mankind can grasp.
A presence so bright that it burns the sight: trembling waves through the limbs.
Flashes of consciousness... remembrance of acts done in glorious might.
Still dwelling in vertigo.
A vortex ascends through the dazzling light.

Shining redemption.

A swirl of chaos on every side, as in this vessel of flesh.
This tool of dismay has completed its task.
Now, clarity's vision enures.
Tear the skin, exuviate!
A carnal temple in transduction.
Excoriate, incise and deplete, remove this shroud of obstruction!

A vertiginous storm of blood, hail and fire, revolving surrounding accompanied by a deafening choir.
Pain and indulgence at once with a prodigious attendance.
Senses transform and evolve – evolutional transcen­dence...

Shining redemption.

Perspicacious and one with the chaos.
The skin fades to dust in the air.
The sword of abhorrence: reshaped for yet another existence.
Behold: an ordinance redeemed in radiant grandeur, leading man in the dance of death.

A blessing in fire.
A blessing in cold, an aura of bestial flames.
Regeneration, since ages foretold.
The light of all lights shines again.
Never to bleed again, never to suffer the poison of life.
Armored with righteous­ness now staring through the eyes of a superior breed.

Shining redemption.

2. Call Of The Nameless Black

I know these ancient halls by heart from wondrous dreams.
I strive along without a thought – blinded, yet I see.
Overhanging shrieking gaps: a bridge as thin as bone.
Abysmal echoes whisper of things 'til now unknown.
Leading to Earth's bowel, a path winds onwards.
At the heart of mankind atrocities unfold.

Twisted human misshapes decorate the vaults: a dark abomination wrought with beastly claws.
Demented ornate structures – the unutterable described. Such exuberance... a hideous work of art!

Submitting to rituals of blackest divine, transforming me into a shadow of time.

Call of the nameless black.

All human feelings disappear, save morbid fascination.
The air breathes hate and scorn and death.
That smell... a bliss to suffer!
The ground: a rotting, reddish fen: a lake of boiling faces.
The scent of horrors undefined – celestial putrefaction.

The stench of torn cadavers contaminates the air.
Bloated bodies put to rest on piles in endless rows.
A tumescent mess of flesh and bone – remember: such is life, and no more will I be trapped inside.
Assailed by ghoulish perceptions – around me the nightmare unveils.

Call of the nameless black.

A mass of unspeakable figures encounters my bed of stone.
Horrid... that footfalls so different can move in such perfect rhythms.
My deepest wish and utmost fear unite in a graceful crescendo.
A second away from my last breath, with eyes closed I'm ready to face death.

3. A Toil Beneath The Skin

Pulsating walls of veins, a chamber made of flesh,
a blood stained living altar of death and wickedness.
A shapeless, nameless terror.
Voiceless whispers feed the inner error as crawling waters.

A ghastly silence – a grinding noise.
Am I alone here? Is this my voice?

Cloaking herds of vermin – stone cold faces.
Underneath the surface: yet black wastelands.
Stirring in the dark; a toil beneath the skin.
Freezing, cold with poison: a coil of hungry snakes.

The Devil clearly mirrored right before me.
Eyes, just like my own two. see right through me.

A ghastly silence – no life to find
Am I alone here, in my mind?

The foul enigma solved, no logic to be found.
A whirling chaos only, relentless and profound.

4. Blood, Be Gone!

Shadow of the void, shine black in me!
Resolve my flesh now and eternally.
Un-light. blind my eyes so I can see!
Reveal the truth that dwells inside of me.

I call now to the constant behind dead gods,
to the radiant obscurity of the underworld.
Voiceless is my prayer, yet loud and clear.
A cry pronounced for none to ever hear.
Earthbound, hating the bonds of the soil
Release me from this solid mortal coil!

Take me to where nothing is. or becomes, for I want to cease!
Let me roam anew where silence is a blinding black!

Born of the earth... body bonds and blood – be gone!
Born of the earth... fleshless rebirth.
Body bonds – be gone!

For once not a dream, but wholly real: the pure nothingness, finally revealed.
Worthy, I rise from the bonds of man – a slave to filth ever since life began.

I call to the lurking constant shadow behind my eyes;
the fathomless infinity of the nightly skies:
the lingering darkness of undreamt dreams;
the blinding silence: the after-light; the pure negation:
the alter-life; the empty essence that is nothing and is therefore all.

5. A Curse For The Dead

The ravishing blessing of Heaven's light vanishes at once
with the closing of eyes, illuminating the darkness inside.
Pave way. tread forth! A sigh to bid farewell,
one last pronunciation: the name of the Creator – forlorn...

A curse for the dead!

The will to life is the lust for death.
Strangling, consuming, vomiting flesh!
A wave of darkness carries me forth to molest the seemingly safe.
Under the moonless valve of black, spirits float onwards to never come back.

Dwell, now. in a sea of negativity!
Undulating darkness, speaking wounds.
This gruesome site is boundless.
The grave: an entry and nothing like rest.
Scarring without leaving scars.
Souls to stone, gristle and bone.

Emotionless dead lips, coldly sealed.
Farewell to the flesh and the truth therein!
A procession for the moribund to initiate the rape of life.
Holy ruin: a web of flesh, following the call of the void.

A curse for the dead!

6. The Luring Depths

Given life to waste, and ever living the loss.
Dwelling as a ghost of my former self.
Trapped inside the chest of a living corpse,
screaming silent at the darkness that I hold inside.

Cold space – death code – Hell's maze – my void.
A void at the heart of my self;
Hell is a version of life.

Connected to the foulness, pierced by all the darkness,
duplicated, re-enforced and seen again and again.
Enlightenment is a burden, yet a triumph for the Hell– bound,
duplicated, re-enforced and seen again, again, and again!

"Per me si va ne la citta dolente. per me si va ne I'etterno dolore.
Per me si va tra la perduta gente...
Lasciate ogne speranza. voi ch'intrate"

This beginningless, endless emptiness; a voyage for the passionate.
This nightmarish, foul senselessness; a discovery nakedly passionless.

Faced with what's within: all Heaven's bliss – reversed!
The irrational as law: a horrid web of thoughts: an illogic vortex void:
whirls of senseless filth: wells to drink from.
Luring waters, depths in which to drown.

7. The Inimical

The archaic dagger gleams with a dismal light, inauspiciously biding, as with a mind.
There's a voice in the wind on this ancient night.
A circle of candles and an altar to climb.

Scriptures bound in human skin.
A life to lose and worlds to win!

Procreating eternity in bloodstains on olden stone.
Sacrificial atonement: a gutted corpse:
another soul in the shrine made from human bones.
Chants the choir of hooded spectators:

"Leave no truth to dwell the grave,
but bear it through the halls of timeless dusk!
Preserve what flickers in the dark.
With fire burn to black what needs the flesh!"

Rising from the vat: a forbidden fume, a dancing veil of peccant smoke.
Lurking in the mist; claws and teeth and eyes, a spectral light in darkness cloaked,
a quivering shadow cast from beyond. Alive, there are no ways to break the bonds!

Materializing: a winged abomination, risen from the depths of time.
The inimical – the unnameable inhuman evil in its prime.

The archaic dagger burns with a cruel glare in the circle of bodies, slain in a mess.
There's a breath of the Beast in the nightly air: an ungodly chill and a smell of death.

The inimical – the unnameable.

8. Man-Beast

As swarms of insccts. set to dweJl the earth.
Murderous cattle to feast upon their weak.
Determined survivors, yet flocks of lethal beasts.
Hunt or be hunted or turn the other cheek.

Give voice to the beast within – enter that howling hole!
Withering tissue and bone, as holy as blocks of stone.
Slaves to a will, immortal; to the divinely immoral.
A dark pattern, immemorial.
Man-Beast: the hangman of life.
War order revocation.
Earth cleansing – un-creation!
Hell dwellers' re-creation.
Man-Beast: the hangman of life.

But specks of sand in the wind, like palms on a futile board played with laconic contempt.
Your fate is in the hands of the gods!

Those ancient movements celebrating ugly death: a dance of primal worship.
Men to piles of shreds.
The sound of human instinct let loose from its chains:
a symphony of madness and exploding heads.

React not with resistance but with faith and bliss!
Lay down yourself and perish in the flames of cold!
The end might well be gruesome, but an end it is.
Now witness one last miracle – you. faceless fools!

Thought and voice to blood and scattered limbs, to vast climes of carrion.
Oozing forth from dead unseeing eyes: the one and Holy Ghost.

A morbid carnation decorates the soil: corpses in blood pools, splattered brains and ashes.
The ruins lie coated in a film of human grease.
Echoes of silence and wounds to brightly gush

9. The Reaping Of Flesh And Blood

I am the ashen skyline.
I am the acid seas: the rains of liquid fire:
the storms of rock and stone.
Supreme is the will of the black divinity.
A heart of destruction beats to eternity.

At my hands: a legion – swarms of catastrophes.
In my trail: cold fire – but wastelands left to see.

Both prayers and shouts of worship meet sheer indifference.
The ghost of harvest scorns you – this flashing scythe is blind!

These flowers made of flesh and blood flourish in a graceful blast.

For ages kept a secret, a hideous miracle, deraded, yet forgotten – I live in the myth of Hell.
Now risen from oblivion, from my abysmal sleep:
a pitch-black ancient darkness is on the face of the deep.

These flowers made of flesh and blood flourish in a graceful blast.

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