A mouthful of napalm, an eyeful of black, the age of unlight's drawing near
a tongueful of wormwords, an earful of death, the season of the scythe is here
a handful of nothing, a heartful of holes, these are the rhymes no one should hear

here we are, declaring darkness with heart and hand
here we die, among the words of ashes and ends

a songful of sickness, a verseful of pain, the time of necrofever's near
a chordful of silence, a lineful of void, these are the tunes no one should hear

here we are, declaring darkness with heart and hand
here we die, among the words of ashes and ends

here we die again

dead for a while, we ride the tombs of time
give death a chance, give me some doom, alright!