The Shrine of Mad Laughter - Deathspell Omega

A sensation of everlasting rot and those frantic wails, no, it is not a fall

into

The abyss, the defiance of descent, a coronation beyond liberty and slavery;

The cry of woe and deliverance exudes a flame, evasive as sound and ether:

An instant of collusion with death, without hope nor prospect, yet it is a

World below and above and in all eternity, a gift of fever, the wind of death

That sustains the life in me, yes, the lightness of hovering in permanent

Anguish;

I dared to borrow those words, to articulate them and to savour

Their turpitude, as I beheld the shrine of mad laughter

The limit is crossed with a weary horror: hope seemed a respect which fatigue

grants to the necessity of the world

As if Death was dashed onto the death within, a violent thrust stealing the

light of the eyes, a ray of darkness, a negation, the bread of bitterness that

ignites neither devotion nor fervour;

resplendent nothingness!

make all things

appear with clarity, ruined in the flame of repudiation, in the flame of God!

Interwoven joy and confusion, a stabbing confusion, asphyxiation from within,

yet I gained this certitude: malediction, degradation, sown in me like seeds,

now belonged to death, in harbouring a desire for the hideous, I was beckoning

to death.

Insatiable combustion, expand, this body is the vessel of grace!

The idea of God is pale next to that of perdition, but of this I could have no

inkling in advance