DARK MASTER

Sony Lyrics

NUHRASIS

Being.
Be still yet, yet still Be.
The gossamer that laced space with silvery threads of projection,
the web of the world, has broken.
Alight, hands laughing under the weight of flame,
tangents form a hollow mould where your essence pours forth from beyond.

Your wisdom that of another Satan, call the Shapeless Shaper!

EXISTENCE! WOMB! CREATE! BE THE PRIME GALACTIC ZERO! THE CHAOS OF

THE REAL! I

In inverse proportion to flux, formate and disintegrate.

Life, thought, into being.
Here, octopoidal giants stalk the lightless void,
Lucifer and insensate.

Far stars implode and reverberate as you turn, with, of, and as, the cosmic
wheel.
Pitch nebulae careen at the blink of megaton intrusion.
Toward the earth, incomprehensible,
the presencing of Man,
Opener as Gates,
Entry as Paradox, Dawns.

SRUUSIS

Human?
No.
And yet you await your accustomed linear falsity to “return” you,
as if there were some “thing” any “thing” at all to “return” “to”.

As if, Motion, as if, Time,

as if, Space. As if Cause or Effect.
As if your arrangement of Chaos into
bearable familiarity owed you past postulation.
As if reality supposed you.

As if, the chaos of the real could “Be”

or be “familiar” “calculated” or “understood”.
As if there were “something” “there” or “were”.

There is nothing,
no “there”no “is”
no “nothing”
no “no”.

Here, without the deception of Linguistics,

the sole language of the Error,
Man, unable to conclude.

Here, prior to “pattern rather than madness”

the Falsity is where you begin,
the immeasure of the immeasure.

The paradox then, to command the Illusion thus posited to remake falsity in
your image,
the madness of belief to inherit god comprehendible.

The Creator, of, within, and by postulate.

Therefore, Posit.
~
Therefore, Sorcerer, Posit.

CHTHNARTHETIS – Part I

A Blue Man with a porous face

stands in the cold sands beyond.
He lifts a distended arm and points at you.

Beside him a faceless corpse clutching a mask

is slowly sinking into the desert.
But there is no time to ponder these portents,
the luminous blue outlines of doorways, portals to other Worlds – beckon you
forth whispering their secrets in arcane tongues.

And as you ascend the dead stairs, Dark Master,

passing each in turn, the portals glower,
their ominous sketches of hateful fire hanging in space,
threatening you in dead languages, promising the abominable,
prophesying the unimaginable.

Their burning eldritch runes illuminate your Way.

Not for you, these indecipherable Gates

And travels to malevolent dimensions
beyond reason and mercy.

Not for you, the endless Doors of the Elder Labyrinth

And its corridors that arch the breadth of space with nexions
to inspire babbling lunacy.

Not for you, the tortured demise

met by those who came before you,
who wavered and were deceived,
devoured and destroyed. Not for you. Not yet.

Onward, past the triple pillars of the Scorpion,

and beyond the gargantuan Archways built by THEM,
with Xotethic scripts carved deeply into their meteoric surface
with torn and fallen stars when the Abyss was still fresh
and glowered with the dim embers of egress.

Nearby, A Satyr, peels a Serpent,

snapping its neck with relish as you pass him.
Like you, his is not the way of the Sphinx
but the Cracked Lizard
– the inside out dream.

The blood from the broken snake forms tendrils,

Flows toward you, sketching symbols you do not recognise.
They seem to swim and writhe before your eyes,
their meaning diffused in the alienic transmission.
You offer to carry the carcass but the Satyr shakes his head,
gesturing instead to the Spaces with a chthonic hand.

Through a misshapen arch

A Comet blazes across the glittering Ocean of the Celestial Night,
Mars Red, it envelops the other stars in its wake in Death.

In the nightmares of the few

the Great Drowning has begun.

In the cities of the Dead,

the grotesqueries rise to worship the Horned One
become the Whored One,
the Chariot of Harlequins.

Wherefrom these Despicable Mysteries?

Wherefrom these Delectable Madnesses?

CHTHNARTHETIS – Part II

An impenetrable Darkness
descends upon the scene above.
The window exposes no more secrets.
Onward you ascend,
the pale halo of broken cities far below,
the scent of blood in the stale air.

Terrifying Spectres of the Antediluvian,

elongated and cyclopean,
crawl from hollows, from shadows,
behind you, after you.
Ravenous these Shambling Slakes!
But see now how they flee!
Touched by the voluminate urges of nightmare
emanating from the vispid masses throned above,
those bloated wyrms that hulk over the deserts
in their prisons between the spaces cowering and subduing the less
abominate.

The staircase widens

to allow the thrust of parapets voidward.
But, What is this?
Something is wrong.

Your march toward Majesty,

your Wyrd…
assailed…
by Chaos…
That lusting, probing tongue.

That sought forbidden knowledge creeps forth.

Its tendrils, plunging, solidifying…
becoming taut …a memory, a phrase, a name. Nyramicns.

Here, a legion of the Dark Gods,

and another, and another, and another,
and here, in This “Place”,
This World’s End and Madness in Twilight,
in their Essence.

Neither disguised nor draped in mercy

as black fissures in the temporal but here,
to be witnessed in manifestations known not to the endurance of man.
Excruciating to see.

Your dark awareness stretched.

These nameless hideous horrors,
These… shapes, these, things.
Things to undo the mind,
unravel it not thread by thread
but lacerate the stitches of its fabric,
rending asunder its feeble might
in scorn of its fragile limits.

No.
You try to look away,
You cannot.
Your mind… is turning in on itself.
The Dream is breaking, cracks appearing… from this…
this encounter with wizardine Agonies.

You try to close your Sight,

to straighten the Worlds to command Them to Obey your Sorceries,
the Dark Champion of your Will,
of your Power, of your Name.

But cold needles,

abject terror and azzerate confusion engulfs you,

Chaos… You are falling.

CHTHNARTHETIS – Part III

Your body smashes into the hard bone staircase unmercifully,

– the veins beneath your skin
suffused with dying glimmers of light.

Once-enchained forces of black magic,

no more serve you than they save you.

Unto the crowded stalags,

the sprawling crawling prisons,
the places of No Lights… Unto.

Before you, a bone staircase

scattered with skulls you recognise
as the remains of former Dark Magi,
yawns forth, up and into Imperial Blackness,
A towering spiral thundering toward Valhalla
and the terrifying danger of the Angles…
THE TERRIFYING DANGER OF THE ANGLES!
THE TERRIFYING DANGER OF THE ANGLES...
THE TERRIFYING DANGER OF THE ANGLES...

GALAXIS – IV

Ageless and Cold,

We will wait for them.
Here, churning in the dark prescient dreams of man,

We brood manifest,
The All-Seeing Unseen.
From vibrant heavens
and mundane hells,
Imprisoned and forgotten by tides of time,
In the year 2300, presenced and unbound
We came.

From whence, they Lost the names.

Without the Empires of Old to reveal us,
the stories of Return buried under small earths
beneath rotting black mountains in the undisturbed
sands of the deepest oceans,
they forgot Us.

When the thriving had ceased,

When the hollow world of man lay still
in smashed cities blackened and nuclear,
We came.

And only then could we come,

For there was never any sake,
any haven for compromise,
And whenever they thought there was,
Chaos Reminded them.
In every sluggish writhe they made,
Chaos reminded them.
Whichever way they turned,
They were proved damned
the Tragic eternal put in their place
by destined Cosmic Egress.
For We were never chained by Word,
Magic, or their feeble Gods.

We were and are the Incomprehensive

and every time they sought to breach,
we brought them closer to extinction,
nearer to their finity.

We touched them with the innuminate entropic,

And brought forth holocaust
to prepare the altar of the Stars,
for the Bornless, the Lucifer,
and the Dark Satyricon.

And in those veiled glimpses by the few,

when we were perchance,
Remembered, they all Remembered why they forgot.
Hear, Parasites of the Now,
The Few that leave before we Come
Will Remember Only to Never Return.

Gone soon, your Seeds of the low dust,

The bloody fodder for our vitriol incubate.

Aperiatur Ny’thra Et Germinet Chaos!

Agios O Mactoron!

OBLIQUE

Darkness. A world without light

But that which shone upon the
Crests of colossal waves
As the earth swam clad in a perpetuity of teeming ocean.
In the hollows and ravines,
Trenches and deeps,
In the eyeless wilde where the immense power
And pressure crushes all
But the strange adapted.

Bioluminescence,
Fleeting dashing stars
In a blacker than black galaxy,
Alien, autonomous,
Long cruel teeth and baleful blinded milky eyes,
A place to stare into the abyss
And have it stare back.

In such a terrain,
Predators and prey,
Monsters, too man has long ceased
To believe in, so old, so forgotten.

Literally and cumulatively,

Sleeping now as marrow in the bones
Of all before a description
That applies to the oceans,
Outer space and the human psyche
As a unitary velvet.

And remnants too,

Of the earth before we knew it,
Before it became our inheritance
And smugly,
We looked back on its history
As if a simple thing,
A chronology so vast yet we so-sagely and compactly imagine we can
imagine.
A luxury of largesse.

Silent those shapes,

Bulky, angular, sentient, monstrous,
Of geometries like those
Spoken of by lovecraft,
When reflections of life were newer, colder,
When the primal natures of beings were becomings
And odd pods ruled the earth again
And again in savage dynasty forgotten by cycles,
The wood age, the ice age,
And the slow accumulation by the nightmares
Of our modern dream,
The ancestors whom passed through
The primordial evolutionary stages of the apex,
Who forged the layers of the subconscious
In crusted bowels filled with watery guts.

THE MESSAGE OF THOTH

FROM THE FIRST ANGLE IS THE DREAM

And there came to one of us in each generation

a vessel with the power of remembrance –
They who dream of the shining light
that sat between the world into which we were born –
and the world we were born from –
and whose dream becomes life.
And They who are touched Remember what has been forgotten –
that which sent us, hidden from beyond sight,
and a secret – and that which must be Restored.

FROM THE SECOND ANGLE IS THE MASTER HOLDING THE BAYING HOUNDS
OF HELL

The first angle is always the Dream,

for the Dark Ones cannot reach across the planes
without the necessary preparation of horrid angles
and lunatic geometry.
To the denizens of the abyss such angles and their design
are the paragon of sublime – and for that – nightmares,
awkward, ungainly and the cathedral of absolute evil
to those guardians of the gate:
those hounds of hell who wear crowns of light.

FROM THE THIRD ANGLE IS THE KEY TO THE SILVER GATES OF TIME

Grasps hir who steeps the world in shadow,

who seizes the hounds of the world dragon by
the throat and turns them to hir command,
the Eternal, for hir crafts defences
against all entropy and interference
in hir dark magic
and holds aloft the blazing shapes
of death and the dead.

FROM THE FOURTH ANGLE IS THE NASCENT HORROR OF ETERNITY

And the gods could learn to live among them

but never again return to earth.
And for stealing the fire of the gods forever be accursed to carry it –
a star – doomed that all whom near it for illumination
be incinerated by its fury
and its glory as punishment.

FROM THE FIFTH ANGLE IS THE CRACKING OF THE SKULLS OF THE

RIGHTEOUS

To hir of the Voice are drawn disciples

whose priests shall receive hir powers
to crack the firmaments.
Believers will turn and fall
to the hands of the grasping.

FROM THE SIXTH ANGLE IS THE GLOATING OF THE ONES OF DARKNESS

WHO HAVE WAITED

Where the star has walked a great fire shall burn,

until all is aflame
and the world a raging inferno.
FROM THE SEVENTH ANGLE IS THE REIGN OF THE AVENGER

And he shall set the Openers and the Closers

in the sands to spill a river of blood.

FROM THE EIGHTH ANGLES IS THE VICTORY OF THE NIGHT OF SEETHING

FURY GIVING RELEASE TO TORTURED SCREAMS

From the smoking ash and twisted brackage,

sweeping swords of cleansing
death announce new names and new ways,
from the old names of always.

FROM THE NINTH ANGLE IS THE COMING OF THE ONES OF OLD WHO HAVE
SLEPT IN THE DREAMS OF MEN.

And None shall Know the Wyrm.

And None shall Know the Wyrm.

THEM

Terato Haruspex Engram Maleficia

GALAXIS (SIDE A)

MEHT

Our symbol is the Eye of the Cyclone, The Epicentre of the Earthquake, The
Arc of the Ocean Wave, The Whirlpool and the Tornado, The Raging Flames of
the Inferno, The Snowflake to the Black-hole, The Rotation of the Earth, The
Cycles of Life, The Seasons, The Orbit of the Planets, The Procession of the
Equinox, Movement Celestial to Undetectable, Chaos and Order, Contradiction
and Dyssolution, The Irresistible meeting the Unmovable, The Synthesis of
Thought, The Reaction of Action, The Abyss of Space, Life through Death,
Death through Life, The Turning Point, The Wheel, The Fulcrum, the Axis,
Entropy, Time, Evolution, Cancer, Bacteria, Blood, Virus, Magic, Energy, Matter,
Change, The Endless Loop, The Archetype, Memory, Quantum, The Pattern,
The Geometry, The Shape, The Circle, The Dark Ones.

REMEMBER.