Ride The Wings Of Pestilence

Prologue: By the winter of 1350It swept the land in an uncontrolledoutburstFamine, cold and pestilential miserySurely this must be a divine damnationPunishment from belowBe it devil or demon that reaps thiscursed nationNo one of us deserves suffering thusOh lord, what have we doneOh God, have you forsaken us?I ride the night airOn pestilential wingsI am the nightmareThat slays your kith and kinI ride your bed at nightAn incubus so vileMy work is seen throughoutThe smoke of funeral pyresBlack rats do my workPunishment beginsCover your face, everyone has heardHere is payment for your sinsThis epoch you won’t forgetYou’re burning from insideIn the final throes of horrid deathThe proudest men forget their prideThey cry in pain immensePraying to be sparedBut your god seems not to careMothers, daughters, fathers, sonsAll are prey alikeTwitching in rotten bowel runsI crave a heavy tollThe deadringers sound the bellFor all of you who fellI reap the field in rageYou scream in mindless fearWhen gripped in my embraceI purify, you putrefy, the end I provideFor your blasphemy, I bring youdisease, a funeral feastI take the helm and steer you into, ahellish domainYou fall in the streets, succumb inyour sheets, diabolic diseaseAnd you don’t know whyWhy your children dieAnd you won’t know whyOn winds of death I rideNow summer has come overthe cityMidday heat is lowThe surviving few bring outtheir deadA neverending flow…I am the death, upon your blackbreath, I am black deathI am the reason, that children liecrying, watching their parentsdyingAnd I am formless, alwaysrelentless, something youcannot seeAnd I am evil, I am disaster, I amcatastropheBy the end of 1352, two thirdsare goneA horrible tale of pestilence andplague, darkness and woeNow I subside, slowly die out,yet I have wonBut I will return, in futures tocome, in different formsPhilip von SegebadenStockholm, ’97

Leave a Comment