Chuck Clouser
08 / 08 / 2006

Oransun's Tear (Death's Mantra):

The red of the moon stirred Hell's howls.
Awakening damned souls from their drowse.
All fates' severed as they claw from the ground.
The echo of a thousand screams resound.
And here thou sits in the midst of their Hell.
For it was I that wrote their death-knell.

With scythe and dark robes I utter requiem psalms.
The midnightingale flutters in delight and joins in song.
Hand in hand where ravished blood flew like shimmering rain.
Where fires' cinders grew to wrap the nightskies' pain.
There my soothing sight was stolen by black-liquored clouds.
The moon full in phase declined to shine, behind Death's cruel shroud.

Black is thine heart, black is thine soul.
Through thine own hands, thou reaps what thy sow.
Black is thine heart, black is thine soul.
Through thine own hands, thou reaps what thy sow.
In Deadways and Discord thou chooses thy trail.
Now thou sits with the setting screams loathing thy veil.

Liken that to a new eclipse budding from the wrath incurred night.
Thou arose to beg the moon with words most contrite.
"Nothing may convene as this starlit night begins to wean.
Fair is Fate (a Razor and Death the Truth) yet it lies with Pain and stands inbetween?
I was conceived to mourn and born to love thee.
Come back to me; come back to me; as I was born in love with thee."

Sitting there starring atop my demonspawned steed Bloodrite.
I have come to take me another knight of light.
To seize their bodies and corrupt their souls like mine.
To see their shattered remnants fall to stain the ground like glasses of red wine.
Then through choking clouds of Death he emerged liken that to a dream.
Came their hero full of pride, as his future's torment remained yet unseen.

Black is thine heart, black is thine soul.
Through thine own hands, thou carves horrors untold.
Black is thine heart, black is thine soul.
Through thine own hands, thou carves horrors untold.
In Deadways and Discord thou chooses thy trail.
Now thou sits with the setting screams loathing thy veil.

Bloodstained sword drawn, he swung looking to smite.
The greatest of Oransun's Warriors of White.
He too fell before me without one stroke.
He fell below into the fog that chokes.
On that night my wondrous sight was stolen by my blood colored clouds.
The moon full in phase declined to shine upon my quarry do to the shroud.

Black is thine heart, black is thine soul.
Soon the cloaked accursed light will exact its toll.
Black is thine heart, black is thine soul.
Soon the cloaked accursed light will exact its toll.
In Deadways and Discord thou chooses thy trail.
Now thou sits with the setting screams loathing thy veil.

As Mortality waves its ugly hand.
I now guide him through Styx to new land.
To the side with the fetid banks.
To join the legions of Hell, to fill their ranks.
And here thou laughs in the midst of his Hell.
For it was thee that wrote his death-knell.

I left his shattered body swaying in the wind.
Bound to a cross, where devils and demons might befriend.
There he was displayed before all of Hell's eyes.
Placed in crucifixion, the utmost of all the Heavens' prize.
I left him there lamenting, still alive in the hallowed Halls of Hell.
I then went to Asmodeus to bid the tolling of his bell.

Black is thine heart, black is thine soul.
For every soul thou has taken another bell toll.
Black is thine heart, black is thine soul.
For every soul thou has taken another bell toll.
In Deadways and Discord thou chooses thy trail.
Now thou sits with the setting screams loathing thy veil.

To me it matters not if you are knight, child or rancid whore.
Your Razor will be the same as those that fell before.
So on the morrow when I stand before thee with scythe and gaze transfixed.
You will know that I have come to lead you home 'cross the river Styx.
Save what little remains of your quieted pride, and cower not in fear.
I shall take you life and your soul regardless, for I am Oransun's Tear.

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