Graven Aspect: From The Origins Of Nihilism


From The Origins Of Nihilism

Will of yours is the will of the serpent, infected your soul with the seed of neglect.
Chained to trepidation we wait the pain to fade away.

The price of our vanity.
Armored with our repulsion, they carried message from your king.
Contrition was our only protection, but one by one we forgot it.

Will of yours is the will of the serpent, infected your soul with the seed of neglect.
Chained to trepidation we wait the transformation to begin.

We adopted apathy and blindness, we embraced the transistory relief.

And somewhere in the distance brasshorn cried for the last time.

Will of yours is the will of the serpent, infected your soul with the seed of neglect.
Chained to trepidation we see ourselves