Storm-lord, the Dreaded One
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Poison of our worlds
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In times of darkness, of death and decay
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he grasps dominion all over
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His stench hovers as shame
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in the house of fraticide
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An impressive depravity of a cadaverous epiphany
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A profane blasphemy of the darkest atrocity
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Welcome me, mortal beings
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to a world a cry of fear
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Incursions to evil
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shattered are your dreams
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My breath, a torrid wind
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of immortal pestilence
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heaves torment, pain and anguish
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suffer in your silence
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Chaos, no salvation
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misery, no redemption
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Twisted minds hold the key
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Benevolence, I pray for thee
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Drowned in fear, shrouded in black
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Mourning eternally in a spiritual lethargy
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Every beat of his heart
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is a death-toll chiming in a mind
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As chimes grow stronger
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the earth shudders in his wake
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His final lament is a
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requiem to the Gods of Darkness
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All deep contempt is a
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blasphemous sacrilege to his name
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The Lord Of Mortal Pestilence
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Anathema |