A soul profoundly macabre locked in the golden cadaver Put in a dream as a timeless wreckage Like a wound that breathes the sordid sighs of sardonic might Which by night ignites the flames of our end Such flames are burnt in an empty hearts of men Nailed to their coffins and carved to their death Banished from their flesh (an entity of the dying kind), abandoned from their pain Such ominous fires burn to sermonize the hate of slain A soul so deeply macabre, dwelled in the golden cadaver Put to (the) death as a timeless bane Like a cry of a blind eye with no tears to soak the flames of the end Through the void they seek the eternal bliss of the cadaver The atrocity, the ferocity of the mourning bell As the flames arise from the wooden shroud, shape the crimson cloud From the golden mist comes the Devil's gist, sets the world to burn, viciously Through the void I've reached the eternal bliss of the cadaver As the yellow mist cut my life and twist it to nothingness While my soul arises from the wooden shroud, shapes the crimson cloud Putting life behind the golden walls that once were flesh Cold and pale is the silent vale of the cadavers There the essence of men comes to an end, proclaiming death A soul profoundly macabre unlocked from the golden cadaver Wherefore the flames arose from the wooden shroud and shaped the crimson cloud And with the golden mist came the Devil's gist, set the world to burn