Iconoclasm disintegrates the flower of mortality

Eternally the grim fog sets, to rouse from
a slumber of centuries, screams of malediction
emanate when diabolical procreation overshadows the meek.

Crumbling fall the statues of Icons
As the infernal deluge consumes the
Landscape, entwined in thorns paralyze
weltering mortality, quickly sinking below the
molten sea.

The winged tyrant took flight
Apocalypticus weaves its trance

The faceless wolves roam unbridled to exsistence
Chilling winds of the Anu befall all conceived
Brandished by nightfall smother blooming hope
Profane hooves thunder across the ravaged plains

Chaos blleds from the eye on the throne,
Chasms billowing stench of the kingdom
that once ruled, seven, horrid and soulles. A hunger for
mortals, their frenzy unfolds.
Forever banish to the heaving underworld pits,
Quetly flow the river Styx.