Idylls of the Chosen Damned - Cultes des Ghoules

Old, dreary old monastery

Saints cursed it in the obscure past

A place of death and adultery

Heavy rain washes the dust

But there’s never dust on its door

Blood-spots on its walls and its floor

When the flute plays the obscene themes

And your pentagram unholy gleams

When your clothes bite your skin

Satan’s voice mutes your spleen

To the Devil we raise our lustful calling

This blood we spill to manifest His power

The night is cut with the bell’s infernal tolling

We worship you since the awakening hour

Naked cunt on the altar and the head of the betrayer

To thee O Dark Lord goes our faithful prayer

Tou — the mighty Word of sedition

You’re the spark of divine transition

You’re the blood of anti-light opposition

We’re your fist to crush the holy apparition

When you hear a banshee’s crying

And Satan’s voice strong and undying

His kingdom calls upon the chosen few

When the moon is bright and silver blue

We pray the evil prayer that never dies

Making love to the Protector of Seasons

Night’s cold air is warmed with our sight

We drank of their wine to mute the reasons

And unlock the terror that rides the midnight skies

We are Thine, O Satan, called to your dominions