Στοίχοι: Twelve Tribes. Abaddon.

Agathodaemon he sighs in his whispers towards the skies you tyrants unfit for this phantast cowered to prestige in his reconciled nest just as you promised from his last glimpse of life the sunlight blinds his eyes fallen is abaddon she has become a cell for demons for every foul bird every beast for the angels have drunk the wine of her licentious passion the kings of the sky have fucked her untouched strike down the blistering sun downtrodden aura hoax the sidewinders pave the way to orcus necropolis black abaddon lay wretched in disgust exhaled by the breath of god onto glass as though it was scribbled in my flesh you die silver flames stare back at me and stretch from his chin to crash down on my skull long faced descendant why must you gather at the stage of my fall you should be crawling at the side of my foot as dagon and beliel i saw michael with the key as imprisoned wings curl detached from forever from heaven down arioc uzziel down moloch and so very low he climbs beneath the dead below the orchid blossom go now cherub unfeeling sew your fragrance sadness into the quilts of those who wish to wither in you blink as i spit gist in your mind as you are no glistening son of mine wrestle you pawn through three hundred and sixty sullen degrees of patients unknown