Текст: Cryptic Wintermoon. Of Shadows... And Dark Things You Fear. Thrashomatic Overdrive.

Addicted to protoplasmic matter
I avail myself do that wide abundance

For I am the creator ? they call me god
This naive rattle I just cultivated to quench my thirst
In my laboratory lovely named "earth" ? your incubator ? you grow and wilt
Scrutinized and analyzed
And when my work is done I simple pull the plug

I am theory ? and practically don't exist
Syntax error ? the unknown force of downfall
My name a synonym for terror ? my blood the elexier of horror
I sustain all synthetic factors of physical composition

Archieving of all nocturnal phenomenons
The ultimate supervisor of statics ? weaver of dimensions

Listen to that voice so mellow ? close your eyes and fall asleep
But be on your guard not to go astray in the shades

Back to generation zero ? thrashomatic overdrive
Enigmatic origin stain by hidden force
Extinguishing the flame of mortals ? systematic termination
Monumental patron of the unhallowed hordes

I sustain all synthetic factors of nocturnal grace