Liturgy of Ritual Execution

Seized by apocalyptic fervor Cast down into the forgotten chamber Devoid of light in the Oubliette Humiliated and bereft Condemned to inhabit my thoughts My last companions Remains of those who came before me Left to fester in the cryptic earth A corpse-foetor permeates the cold stone The Queen's hungry mouth And bulging, demonic eyes Await me in the grave My title affords me such pleasure As to languish in oblivion Nay, I long for the headsman And the mercy of steel upon the nape How many months have passed Since the sun shone upon me? Perchance to inquire of the vermin Relieving my casque of this flesh More than I require here Ruminating in my limbs Worms shriek for my essence Their voices swirl around me A blanket of crawling insects I bequeath to them this putrid bounty She visits me again Mocking me from the door above I turn towards the abysmal depths Reaching for interminable silence

Forlorn and beset by grief She receives visions in the form of morbid dreams An ethereal durance... The ordeal of a tainted soul Luring the innocent one down to the river With soft whispers and melodious tune Before long a shard of jagged stone offers the prostrate figure up as a sacrifice Cracked pate rendering its bounteous ichor The bellows of the infant, in the firmament finds quietus It weakens under the alluring swell Uplifted by spiritual provocation Deliverance given unto the infanticide They convene over the despondent one A tribunal of canons Through this holy anointing, by His most tender mercy I am conveyed into His eternal embrace Now the executioner's block awaits me In a stone cell do I confess my crime This blood upon my hands is salvation Blissfully do I go to the gibbet Knowing I will be one with the angels No salvation from the assembled The roaring crowd greets me at the scaffold

Pustules of an indiscernible mass Writhing spasmodically Watch it roil Adhered by bilious fluid The corpse becomes entrenched In the virus of subjugation Externally digested Fermented in existential terror Providing sustenance to the parasite Whose corpulence now dominates it The vile womb ruptures desiccated waste No longer fit to feast upon Despoiled and evacuated The cryptic earth razed under Beating morbid wings, And carpeted with remains Like an inconceivable ossuary Relics of a beleaguered past The host remains adjunct to its history Unknowingly harboring fallacies of its freedom Abandoned, only the human husk persists Its forlorn destruction

Wrought in all humanity Which is ungodliness Incarnate flesh Act as fools Bring up the meat hook of fetid disease swine of fetid disease swine Retribution Perceived by hart so Fueled by greed and despair Thieves to transgress the community Feudal aristocracy Tyranny of an age, public torture Means to intimidate the population Limbs twisted in a mockery of the human form A twisted kyphotic mass Subject to a mask full of honey Suffering the bees The mercies of warping bone Bent upon the block Wove in lattices, split into ruin All fear instilled by the wood restraints We stay swollen through our self righteousness

“The condemned person was wrapped in a raw, wet oxhide and dragged on a hurdle to the scaffold by a horse beforehand; on the way pieces of the offender's flesh might also be torn out with red-hot tongs; and after execution, the head was usually severed and put on top of a pole, as observed by Taylor, and the body tied to a cartwheel, placed horizontally on top of another pole, and similarly left to rot...” A great number were clustered together There was a prisoner to be broken upon the wheel Idle gazers did press to gape upon him Guilty of murdering his infant daughter with an axe Great multitudes flocked to the place of execution He came on foot with a priest And his executioners crossed the drawbridge Ascending a mount of earth That all may see the execution a mile round The hangmen take each a small halter Holding the prisoner upon his back Then the Arch-hangman The great Master of this mighty business Took up a prodigious wheel Lifting it by the spokes A mighty stroke beat the poor wretch's limbs into pieces Four main blows on his breast, Burst all his bulk and chest in shivers, Lastly he smote his neck, and burst his jaws to mammocks The broken mangled corpse, spread on the wheel A post thrust into the wheel, And fixed it to the earth, There the carcass lay to be consumed By ravening fowls

This sublime firmament, our collective reality The fruit of genocide, the slaughter of millions By the providence of God They too will fall to their knees, In supplication Worshipful of the bloody-handed one Whose religion so easily makes a yoke about the neck Instrument of destiny Countless bodies a mulch for the ground Upon which holy men may walk No level of abasement No degree of slaughter May call into question The divinity of this mission When the angelic host did create this unspoiled verdure For the refreshment of his chosen people Why forever did they populate it With vermin of sullied visage? A matter of swift correction Some will be forced into pens The fortunate human cattle Those who come after By industrial conveyance Are slowly bereft and gradually merged into a mass of human meat Bones ground into a fine dust By the weight of centuries Aeons of suffering The last will be denied even the meager inheritance of their kin They will not survive what is to come The end of all mercy upon the earth At last

From the ruined walls of Harfleur Where countless noble sons were made shackled wretches And the Pays de Caux was ruined Many fortresses razed Across the Somme to Hedin Pursued by ten thousand men-at-arms The army of the King At vespers, the two armies were in sight of each other The French were joined by their mightiest Dukes who had each brought his war host resolved to stand or fall with them in the battle On that day they were drawn up in the order of war in a valley near Agincourt With battle lines arrayed The vanguard broke upon the enemy Countless were suffocated by the weight of those behind them Trampled by their own horse in the thick mud Sundered chapel of iron The shower of arrows fell upon them so thickly that they were compelled to retreat amongst their own people It was then a pitiful sight to behold the dead and the wounded who covered the field and the number of men-at-arms who turned and fled Proclamation was made that each man should put to death his prisoner, except the nobles and for this cause many prisoners were put to death In rites of unspeakable suffering The dead were interred in the wretched earth Culled from heaps of mangled carrion Thrones of the slain