At The Gates Of Travichal

The burning sun had risen,
As I hid my face away from the day,
And crawled along like an ending song,
Until my trembling hands had found their way,

Before the moon had risen,
I waited for my mind to melt,
In the heat of the lies and the hatred,
The wasps gave to the pain I felt,

Like a hypnotized wraith I stared above,
Into the sun cast high with fate,
All life ends without lust, without love,
I screamed afar, "Why shall I wait?",

Scars told stories,
Blood told lies,
Of every sorrow before it died,

My ill-natured thought diffusions,
And full intrusions into the loosened,
Defiled the will to kill, yet lived,
In a single orb of my descent,

The red-clad led me into the pale,
Like a liquored gale, I walked the trail,
Behind the lanterns gold and flickering,
Above the maggots, slick and sickening,

Catacombs of stone and mud,
Blinded us from the burning sun,
In an endeavor shocking fast to stun,
Through it's shackles lying still undone,

Deceived in the shadows,
Cast by the past now to last,
Alone in silence,
'Neath the trickling waters,
A spell to compell the hell,
Awaiting us to face,
Departure from an ending race,

At the gates of Travichal,
My free will waited to be sold,
To the highest bidder, rotten old,
A vampiric elder's life untold,

As we kill the young,
The old live on,
A final lack and defeated spawn,
From the pits of morals,
And the abyss of lies,
The avengers lather us in cries,

Scars told stories,
Blood told lies,
Of every innocence as it died.