Woorden: Dimmu Borgir. Death Cult Armageddon. Allegiance.

Cuddled through a cold womb he was
Pitch black and without sunshine rays
Hell patiently awaiting him on blood spilled soil
A noble grief stirred heart, always ready to die

In sinister systematization, submission is golden
As an apprentice to violence, slaughter and bloodshed
He was like an object that is being processed
A force fed destructor ready for abomination

The vast solitude in him witnessed it all
Those self afflicting eyes and their fear painted faces
Made out of utter discipline, failure unacceptable
Hosts to oblivion exploring the darkest of places
Stench of rotten flesh breathing down his neck

Every day seemed like an endless night
When would he ever wake from this void?
No other voice than his own will ever tell
What was real and where he had been, what he had done

Did you bleed for the cause like the rest of his men?
Did you capture the euphoria?
How it was like to kill, such a necromantic force behind it all
They sure did battle till the end

But when came all the glory and who got spared to carry his body
Just pure death and too profound to be shared
Was it all a fabricated vision in his memory
To serve the wastelands of insanity at the front?

Like forever lost its innocence
Never to see the light of day again
He pondered his few steps into the realms of death
With his hand bloodstained

Courage and consistency
Bravery and valor
Honor and pride
For what was it all worth?

Courage and consistency
Bravery and valor
Honor and pride
For what was it all worth?