Paroles de 'Kali Yuga Intifada' par Sigrblot

"The gospel of perennial truth in its new form which we came to proclaim, and which is more, to live. Nothing can alter our allegiance of thee, stronghold of mankind of the West. Nothing can ever mar our loyalty to the old oath. No threats can force us to believe their lies. No bribery can keep our hearts from hating both. Happier as the storm draws nigh, we wait and watch events go by. We wait and watch the signs of war."

These omens will initiate the third edifice of the shrine of impiety; Solomon's grotto of whoredom - ciergy of rats gathering around the surfacing of their covenant ark. Winds of Gehinnom, bearing charred embers of the crimson heifer, shall birth its storm in the sands of time. From the desert tempest - enthroned in the eastern bog; crowned Dajal clad in scarlet wool, goatblood-stained robe of Joseph. The sovereign of leeches claiming the high pirest sceptre, ushered by ram's horn resonance from the Temple Mount. Bleached bones of the past be damned, unborn flesh decomposing before birth. "And every fleeting second brings us further away from the long nightmare of defeat." Triumph of the unclean and conquering the of the Old World.

With us they did not reckon when setting forth their vast utopian schemes. They thought thee dead, and us also. They thought our faith had slackened. They thought, the fools, that they could rely upon our loyalties to values which we hate. They thought they could send us to die without us ever asking why, when we had grown too weary to say no. They thought they had become the masters of our fate. And here we rise and here we stand, and give the world to understand, that we shall never fight but for our same old dream. For honour and for might, and what we know is right. "For the joy of asserting the privileges of our birth."

Rising secular embodiments of our end, foretold in arcane doctrines, as we remain shackled to a quest beyond redemption. Chained to a dreary strife in a descending spiral - eternal conflict linking gentile to hexagram. Omnipotent lodestar of Bethlehem glowing with an oily radiance - its nauseating illumination blinding those who still can see. Beacon of an unseen war fought for aeons - the host's struggle against the malevolent sarcoma. Destruction waits for no man as the hounds of time come stalking; wolf of the west and eagle of the east - unlikely tribes facing doom from the same yoke. Impending ruin in a joint consensus.

"And every dreary hour that passes by into eternity glaringly shows the soundness of our claim, and tells the world the inanity of thy enemy's victory. Thus we march invincibly towards our lofty end along the way of blood and tears. It matters not how much we gave. It matters not how much we shall yet give, to see all those who hated descend into their graves."

Swords of the light boreal - scimitars of the obsidian stone. Anguish in blood smeared runes - fervour welded in the burning jade flames. Symbols of the sol invictus, patterns of the glazing crescent night eye. To reach out and bestow death, yet shroud oneself in its loving embrace. Dual warrior mythos to behead the global serpent.

"We are grateful to the immortal gods who made us free. Serene, even in hell, and loving only thee."