Shemhamforash

Behemoth

What we need is hatred. From it our ideas are born (Jean Genet)

Consumed by tongues ov fire
Burning like Phlegethon
Holy gardens reduced to ash
Extinguishing light ov hope
Bringing the end ov the days

Words ov my gospel scattered
Sacrilegious scorn spat in pale creeds
Thin is the line between pure being and pure nothing
My sole companion, woe to Thee!

At my command
Let the blood ov the infants flood the streets ov Bethelehem!

O ye ov little faith
With ethics rotten in a moral cage
Dead meat thrown down to the worms
To feed religious tumor
Corrupting marrow ov repugnant swirl

At my command:
Let the blood ov the infants flood the streets ov Bethelehem!
At my command:
Llet the heads ov Samaritan pave my ways!

Shemhamforash!
Shemhamforash!
Shemhamforash!