The Wakedead Gathering - Wakeseer

He sits alone in madness
The horrible visions, his companions without names
Whispers in the dark concede
"I caress you with blasphemy..."

They are coming
Apocalyptic riders from the ancient scrolls
From Hell they thunder forth
A vulgar, raging horde
To bring about the end
Even the gods could not forsee

No debt beholden
The price he pays is what he sees in his mind
Cataleptic figures of man void of breath
Restless in the grave

Crawling, deformed witness of hate
Romancing fools when no hope remains
Blind and forever starving
A harbinger twisted by his fate

Voice of the insane - Tongue of the absurd
Wakeseer - watcher of the earth's interred

Bells ring the hour as foretold
The masses of the dead renewed
New masters of the arts obscene
A cruel new era of funerals extolled

Pestilence
Famine
War
Death