Searing fires of enmity and bitter malice
Pierce the clandestine cold darkness, exposing the putrid soul.
Past the tomb where twilight shadows ever-deepen,
Deep within the mouth of fiendish chasms to The Nevermore,
Lurks the Mother of the Great Abomination
Seeking whom she may devour, unseen, unknown, evermore;
Luring sucklings to her cursed breast of damnation
Where she feeds her milk of whoredoms, and they die forevermore.
Eager mouths caress her breasts
Tasting doom’s ruthless judgment
Drinking sustenance of death
Sleeping Prophets wake with rage… And reprisal.
Terror… choking… As their souls are smoking
From the… Fiery… Pit where they lie burning.
Swollen… Maggots… Binge upon their broken
Bodies… Rotting… To their beginnings
Where they’ll lie lost forever more
Longing to be resurrected
With those who will stand against them
Fighting to reclaim The Forgotten.
With bloodlust, the Prophets rise… Bloodlet
Seizing control of the souls… Once lost
Quaking with anticipation… Vengeance
Centuries of suffering… Waiting
Ancients come to end the reign of lies
Cutting out the Mother’s faithless eyes
Vicious torment fills her endless days
Impaled sucklings on display
Innocence is lost and freedom dead.
On the Prophets’ spike, The Mother’s head;
Bodyless, forced to stare in dismay
At the impaled corpses of her sucklings rotting on display.
And yet she speaks, preaching contempt
To a hypnotized, lost remnant.
Hoping, pleading as to a god
For undying admiration.
Frenetic Prophets destroy her throne room
Dividing spoils among The Forgotten.
Revenants rejoice, drunken with loathing
As the Great Abomination has ended.
What was once a secret cloaked in lies
Slow to fade but much quicker to die
Becomes an eternal monument
To a time when no one could repent.
Prophecy fulfilled, the Prophets seek a new time for vengeance.
As a new Abomination is created, the cycle continues.
Reborn to be set free, only to allow a new Affliction
To willingly manipulate a new generation.
Darkness falling… Severed conscience… Calling… Pleading…
To remember all our past sins
Weeping, wailing… Gnashing of teeth… As we behold…
A new Mother, resurrected.
Slash the tongue that slithered / its way through so many lies…
Before she can breed again.
Lament as the Prophets pass judgment: Agony with / out end.
New Zealand technical death outfit Ulcerate have often been praised for their innovative genre approach—but six albums into their discography, there's even greater strength in their consistency. Bandcamp Album of the Day Dec 20, 2016