Paroles de 'Imitatio Dei' par Deathspell Omega

Here is a blessing for the children of the light
The harbingers of the great cleansing

Your ability to ask the right questions
Shall be unequaled under this Sun
For you are our children
Your answers, however
Shall be fraught with imperfection
Infected by the purulent rot of your vanity

Here is a curse for the children of the light
The harbingers of the great cleansing

You shall defiantly insist on absolute infallibility
Such hubris will cause pain
Of a magnitude unseen before
Ridiculing all barbarian conquests
Throughout the ages hitherto

We shall make you so impervious to the world
That should all the angels descend
Upon you and prove you wrong
You would simply shut your eyes and stop your ears
For they would not deserve to be either seen or heard
Our teachings shall shield you from the world
And turn you into an island in dead waters
With high cliffs and no coves

The key to our doctrine
Shall be given only in the heavenly futures
Those that lie beyond the boiling shores of struggle
Simple words shall be uttered then placed
In the midst of a tortuous maze and rendered full of mystery
The system is born, the system provides answers
You shall renounce to sincere understanding
So as to gain absolute certainty
You will stand unmoved by the pleas of reason
Knowing that within the heart
Lies the conscience of the order

Thou shalt become a species
That sooner dies than yields aught
Of that which it hath not yet

We shall breed the brothers and sisters of erysichthon
Cursed with eternal hunger; the self has vanished
In full and left behind nothing but a craving
Jaws chewing forevermore
On mangled pieces of nothing, devoid of nutrients
This breed will feel in league with eternity
And its enemies will be plagued
With the burden of opposing
What seems to be inexorable fate

Our world is stripped of wonder and hesitation
For all things are happening according
To that which is contained in our book of revelations
The road, while slippery with the blood
Of that which is other, is straight

We shall make you pray not only for your daily bread
But also for your daily illusion
For nothing within the realms of the ordinary
That which once was, can relieve you
Only a miracle would you beg to drink
The sweet milk of imposture, moaning like newborn lambs

We will make you unstable
Like a chemical radical deprived of inner balance
Your longing for belonging will become so great
As to be insufferable, ending in your total surrender
You shall henceforth fight not with the white gloves
Of the gentleman, but without sentimentality