With the hands washed with your own rotten blood,
You clamber up the corpses of vices and feebleness.
The weakness of spirit's attachment to shit,
For the death of Kama Manas of thoughts and flesh.
To leap into the abyss of purity and crystal-clear Darkness,
To become the vortex of Chaos and Death.
To merge with primordial Wrath and rise up in power,
Subduing the flesh, purifying it with sharp pain.
Greedily gulping viscous pus down your mouths,
Destroying the seven pillars of matter and illusions.
Limitlessness and fire of inner war
That will end with victory of mind over emptiness.
Subduing desire and silencing
The low lusts that make you weak.
To revive the fire of Black Dragon inside,
To blaze up and to become one with the Dark Temple of Spirit.
