Songtext von Divine Perversion

Cold chiseled dagger Of necrolore a spear of might Wounds running deeper Cuts are of devils teeth Master cold, lower me down To the desolation that carries my name To the worlds that cower beneath me My divine perversion twisted black The northern face of these hills The bitter face of disgust With murderous precision With a demon cloak of armor Violently territorial This lair of damnation In November's rusted chains By the boiling blood of saint The dark will cut it's mark