Idylls of the Chosen Damned - Cultes des Ghoules
Old, dreary old monastery
Saints cursed it in the obscure past
A place of death and adultery
Heavy rain washes the dust
But there's never dust on its door
Blood-spots on its walls and its floor
When the flute plays the obscene themes
And your pentagram unholy gleams
When your clothes bite your skin
Satan's voice mutes your spleen
To the Devil we raise our lustful calling
This blood we spill to manifest His power
The night is cut with the bell's infernal tolling
We worship you since the awakening hour
Naked cunt on the altar and the head of the betrayer
To thee O Dark Lord goes our faithful prayer
Tou - the mighty Word of sedition
You're the spark of divine transition
You're the blood of anti-light opposition
We're your fist to crush the holy apparition
When you hear a banshee's crying
And Satan's voice strong and undying
His kingdom calls upon the chosen few
When the moon is bright and silver blue
We pray the evil prayer that never dies
Making love to the Protector of Seasons
Night's cold air is warmed with our sight
We drank of their wine to mute the reasons
And unlock the terror that rides the midnight skies
We are Thine, O Satan, called to your dominions
