Stank lagoons with grasping claws a serpent have released

From dungeons of despair and farce to feast on brackish hearts



The walls a tint of crimson fierce speak of vacant names

Beheld by missive magot-pies, prophetic in their crow



In vested misery, thy devils damn thee black

Not all great Neptune's oceans may ever cleanse your robes



For Weyward Sisters guide the hand, the hand that held the scythe

To lands undiscerned in tongue, Cimmerians have roamed



Infidels of tawny hue cannot hide behind

The cross that bore a bastard child and reigns in fiery fear



No ends of earth may stifle choirs oracular from magot-pies

Perched upon a hungry vault to witness serpent's jaws



Mandibles, sabre-lined, ruthless tear through flesh

Grant the mercy shown to those in dungeons of the past



Forsaken hymn cacophonous concluded long and drawn

To realms of stank lagoons retreats Leviathan to find repose