Carnal Throne.
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Carnal Throne

A crown of thorns made out of teeth,
a throne that breathes beneath the floor,
old scriptures rot beneath our feet,
as idols crack and beg for more.
The candles bow, the shadows grow,
the pit exhales a sulfur moan,
the serpent smiles—then cuts the leash,
and claims the dark we’ve always known.

Bow your head—
or bow in half.

The serpent takes the throne tonight,
coiled in glory, crowned in spite,
every prayer becomes a chain—
and every chain becomes our name.

Drums like war, guitars like saws,
we march in time with broken laws,
boots in ash, fists raised in flame,
we chant the end of heaven’s cause.
No flags remain, no borders stand,
just teeth and bone and rhythm raw,
we call it love when heaven falls,
and dance upon its shattered laws.

No rescue comes—
the pit is warm.

The serpent takes the throne tonight,
coiled in glory, crowned in spite,
every prayer becomes a chain—
and every chain becomes our name.

He speaks in thunder, bites in peace,
his tongue a blade, his breath release,
he turns the flock from knee to knee,
from feast to feast, from priest to beast.
Seven marks across the sky,
seven wounds that never heal,
he signs the world with broken light,
and seals it shut with seven seals.

Hiss the vow—
kiss the wound—
shed the skin, assume the rune,
drag the light into the tomb,
LET IT DIE—
MAKE IT BLOOM.

The serpent takes the throne tonight,
no more wrong, no more right,
tear the crown from holy bone—
TAKES!
THE!
THRONE!

Polygraph

Cursed

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