No Salvation - Azarath

My greater Feast of Death, the vultures' last supper

Let me offer the body shreds over the valley of corpses

I, transcended mortal, bird-scattered nobly-born dead

No hope for I am a sinner of the fields of death, so enter therein!

As setting face-to-face call me

Loathsome, abominable One!

I won’t be nobly-re-born

Through the winds of this bardo-hell

I, the wanderer

The world-departing One

Lost life was illusion so sins and weakness are delusions

Yet That which is, is not That which is!

All laws are but a lie!

Falsehood!

No light at the end of the whirl, no funeral comfort sinning

As my tight-bone

Trumpet sounds from voice of death

And my skill-cup overfilled with sins

My soul’s great fall

Now, I hear the Apocalypse

Smell smoke, dull colour

Light of Hell!

Then confess, not having done godly deeds

Had done evil instead!

I, the evil-doer before the King of Suffering