Open the gates, here we come upon the tides of Acheron The souls of acrid carrion bear no nepenthe to anchorage them These passages flow infernal, native to the nocturnal Beneath these austere waves of spite will emerge my fleshless acolytes All miscreants shall undergo and unearth the tongue of woe There is no purge where they will go, their despair will be sewn Breathlessly subsisting, weeping their amends Onwards we still go Into Acheron we descend Spirits screaming in vain for me to take away their jagged misery Little do they know it is not I who controls I'm just a messenger of death on this dreary coast of sorrow Unshackled by their deity Left to sulk as stagnant shades in an odious melancholy In a corrupted daze, amongst my sails they writhe Shattered by such frail beliefs, their faith has been crucified Never ending they will fall, cruel beginnings shape them all Unconsciously seduced by this river's blessed contagion Everlasting they will crawl along the shores of Avernus Newly deceased beliefs mangle their last thoughts of salvation Within the wretched, unwillingly they bow to ill fate Embracing every fear, flourishing in the throes of hate Drifting closer towards the realms of unsung vile Dreadfully, this is where they'll eternally wallow among these Lethean floods Becoming unhallowed with lust These unblessed stygian depths will guide us to the end of sensation Never to be reclaimed Revolving aimlessly through the corridors of damnation