Frost Bite and Brimstone

Lyrics

[Intro: Daemonum] Tnanevoc dewollah eht gnimehpsalb ,seltsopa eht fo selgna eht dna ,yrotcer eht eb desselB Deevil! Deevil! It's Daemonum, I'm back Frist service [Verse 1: Daemonum] I darken lamps and quell the sun when I enter the room Followed by an overcast cloud, as I perpetuate gloom I'll leave your daughter conversing with demons Listen to my legion preach to a weeping deacon Gazing out a window– With a pentagram necklace, pushing pins in a voodoo doll FBI marching around my dwelling like the Jerusalem Wall Kicking the base of the Judas cradle, getting answers that way Tapping dying embers off the tip of my cigar, into the ash tray Convening with the seven princes of hell, the sky was blood that day At least have some decency, playing Russian roulette with a priest, at least he's in pieces, see Blessings are the last thing I receive, dark scrolls, spells and hexagrams define my typical evening scene Papyrus leaves and some charcoal, sketching a pentagram next to the hieroglyphics for stress release I don't need the divine to declare that I'm damned When the planets align, I'll stop snorting lines off my nightstand I'm saturnine at best, drinking away the memory of my dead hand Witchcraft is a bad habit, I toss in the virgin blood, cow eye and wolf hair Dipping a concubine's femur in the cauldron and stir it with a serpent's prayer Swearing ne'er-do-well, it's ardent animus— I don't condone it, I represent it Gripping a hellsceptre, beguiling the sermonizers— and when I said it, I meant it Selling the seven sins just to see it prosper, antagonizing the anagnosts, now repent it [Hook: Daemonum] Frost bitten fire and brimstone, hell hath frozen over, snowflakes and ashes of the marauder This is for all the conjurers and summoners, flaming rings and batches of matches for fodder Ecclesiastic apostasy, an orgy of clergywomen— I have your daughter in here with me, father [Interjection: Daemonum] Second service [Verse 2: Daemonum] Who am I? There are better questions that need our attention Like; why make a song when you have nothing of worth to mention? You make noise and jot words but all that comes out is pretension Your prosaic psittacism bores my twisted soul and lacks dimension You'll be the next vulgar display of the abominable sciences Grimy reinforced windows funnel the distorted view of the rusted appliances I sit reposed on the throne, idly awaiting the delivery of the chained priestess At the table with angels, occultists, apostles and demons to discuss the elitists Calculated rituals and blood stains on the amice, got the ostiarius walking up to the alter Unsheathed the sacramental blade and bade him forward, to read from the psalter We can act holy and I'll be the curate but as for you diseased heathens, I can't cure it Lepers and leeches beseech me to release the antidote to indolence as if it's in a burette I don't fix talentless lames, back off; I've got my hands full, tying this nun's hands together Emptied this chalice of blood just to put the wine in, prepare the host no matter the weather This is for all my people, the syndicate of sinners supporting this sinister skullduggery We'll be lighting cigars with a blow torch and the money of the populous, all and sundry Got my feet up on my marble desk, smoking the ashes of my rival's family out of his skull Oxfords rocking lightly, with my legs crossed at the ankles, pondering the irrevocability of it all Next time I make an appearance, they'll make a try for my life, but that comes with the territory Take my ball point pen and sign at the dotted line, join me in this quest of flagrant outlawry If we were drinking Kool-Aid here, my friend, we wouldn't be so near the nadir of excellence I'm cynical, unscrupulous and rouge, with a meat cleaver for those acting as if they have relevance Acolytes and archdeacons forced to into kitchen witchery, as hell freezes over from seeing my soul [Hook: Daemonum] Frost bitten fire and brimstone, hell hath frozen over, snowflakes and ashes of the marauder This is for all the conjurers and summoners, flaming rings and batches of matches for fodder Ecclesiastic apostasy, an orgy of clergywomen— I have your daughter in here with me, father [Outro: Daemonum] Still on my craft, Daemonum doing his thing Это коррупции להיות חכם שוטה Are haters still at it? Pray for em' friend, so be it Ʇno ןıʌǝǝp