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Behemoth - Blackend IV - The Past Is Like a Funeral
Blackend IV
Disc 1
01. Witchery
02. A Poignant Scenario of Death
03. Dismal Wings of Terror
04. Thy Sorrow Bequeathed
05. Autumn's Ablaze
06. The Discipline of Earth
07. Decrystallizing Reason
08. Awaiting the Valkyries Arrival
09. Towards the Forest
10. The Prophecy
11. Son of Mourning
12. The Amen Corner
Disc 2
01. A Demonoid Virtue
02. In Chains Until Ragnarok
03. A Macabre Fanfare for the Devil
04. The Past Is Like a Funeral
05. I Breathe Without Access to Air
06. Rider on the Bonez
07. Inside the Circle of Stones
08. Circle of Pain
09. Awaiting the Exorcist
10. Death Triumphant
11. Demon of the Fall
12. Fatherland
Sometimes when I visit the landscapes of the shadows
Something that recalls the grave
Hides in the hellish depths and awaits
When I dream, it peeks into empty goblet
(And) becomes the wine of ecstasy and licentiousness
I know the one in a flock said: "Watch out, watch out"
But I will not go away till I taste the sweetness of your body
No matter it poisons and causes death

The past is like an eternal funeral

Years, thousands of them, I rotted in a monastic cell
I resembled a stone, hiding my murderous self in silence and fear
I lasted in the infinity of meditations and contemplations
Waiting for the deserved dream, there on the holy land
And its taste and coldness I remember
Bare-foot digging my own pit
I was kissing it as if the sweetest lover and begged
But was the sand to become my salvation
Or worms the people on the court of light
The past reeks of an oak coffin, so wet and old

Burning dirty claws in the wooden eyes of Jehovah
I killed mercy, spitting on the laws of god
I celebrated the birth of power
I fell in love with freedom and the beast
And I spat out the Antichrist from my morbid womb
In order to give life to divine grain
And concentrate the birth of human tragedy and destruction
I envisaged myself as a great magician
Although they called Armageddon the whore
Today I celebrate my birth, though I am elder than the world
I am elder than the world

The past only sometimes is like the sand
That the grave-digger throws in your eyes