Urfe
Lyrics for the Axis of Perdition's album 'Urfe'
Original translation by user 'ThanatosUK' on last.fm http://www.last.fm/zh/user/ThanatosUK/journal/2009/02/04/2gj8be_the_axis_of_perdition:_urfe_-_grief_of_the_unclean
Grief Of The Unclean I
It began, and ends, with Pylon. Minister of (Axis/absence?). Pylon stands in the doorway, beckoning me in.
A letter arrived, I can't remember when, but since and hereafter I inhabit the world of decay. The world according to Axis. The Axis insinuates into the human lifeline by contagion. A malignant parasite gorging on the sludge of human debauchery, on the thick leavings of guilt and perversity that haunt the weak and crippled. Defecating in the mouths of the power hungry and insane. Smearing their (?) effluvia of crack whores. In the economy of the Axis, no dark fantasy goes unheeded.
Is this the law of antipathy? The disciples of the Axis licked clean of the purality of the decent, their aura's shine like a black sea so that even the infernal disintegrates in their presence. All that is occult in the realm of the Kalifoth shines with the black light of the Axis. The dominion of perdition is at hand.
Axis is glyph, logos of abomination. Neither life nor death, between the many ciphers of absence. Yet more, it is the absence of absence, and no thing that can be known. Neutered of all materiality it neither is nor is not. Urfe is object and therefore illusion. Urfe walks without, and his shoes are empty.
Axis resides within, my possessor. And Axis is, ad nauseam. Axis is void of absence. An absence of absence of absence.
Before the letter I mourned with the many. An asteroid speck in the wake of Jupiter. Desperate for salvation I threw off a faint magnetic field. An anemic pulse pummeled by the relentless swell of Kalifotic gorging. An insignificant lifeline buffeted in the seas of gluttony. Before the letter I yearned to be stitched back together like Frankenstein's monster, woven back into the fabric of life from which I had been forcefully (?). To taste the bitter chaos and (platonic / plutonic?) rememberance. But the letter offered a different paradise. A different cipher.
Axis offered the stigmata of dismemberment. A new (ayoga?), and the ecstasy of torture. Surely human destiny was not underneath the stars, but to bathe in the light of conciousness. Are we really so insane to believe in the tale of the second coming? Ascend the yields (wheels?) of apocalyptic motion. I wasn't prepared to drown in the great flood, and glorify Satan in an attempt to tempt and antagonize God. Mankind is drowning in a deluge of blood sacrifice, so that neither God nor the devil can hear our cries through this crimson tide. Even our prayers sound as barbaric as (?).
“You took your time” whispers Pylon. (“Will you let go of the absence?” ?) “Follow me into this new darkness, and I will share with you my bounty. If you can't hear it coming, then it's not really there. Pull your blanket up tight over your head my child, and naught can harm thee.”
Grief Of The Unclean II
Instrumental.
Grief Of The Unclean III
8pm and ensuing darkness spews over the derelict (?) of Locus Eyrie and I'm suddenly alone. The Kalifoth hordes dissolve between the thin slivers of sleep. The day dwellers get lost in the enveloping tar of night, into the crawl spaces and (gimcracks?) of the high town hall. In the blink of an eye the streets are a sandstorm of smog and glass, shards blowing across the empty wastes of an urban desert. The air bares it's teeth and bites you with the stench of rotting offal. My eyes burn, scorched by muggy steam and there's a caustic taste in my mouth like I licked a battery.
In the center of this godforsaken scrapyard stands (The Rule Of The Open Eye?). The vault of all things infernal but where I'm ordered (?), destined to meet again.
(Sorry, can't get anything coherent in the next part)
Tightened with anxiety I summon the strength to prise the door open. The door groans on it's hinges, unwilling to share it's bounty. (?)
My footfalls are afterlife, thick filled with grey fog, cold stone walls choked by dense cobwebs and dust. I enter the main reading room, a formidable atrium, hostile, gagged by freezing cold. On the ceiling is a huge glass mandala stained with what looks like a picture of a slaughtered hog. Much of the glass is shattered, distorting the image, the sharp edges look like scimitar blades. A hole in the roof leaks the black light of the witching hour from outside. The silence is so thick you could eat it. I stand, quieted and listening.
Urfe: “Hello? Hello?”
The words bounce off the walls and answer themselves. There are no books to register my presence, no tomes to soak the cracked plangence of my voice. Where did the books go? Were they removed, or did they flee? Was culture, the pitiful winging milk sop exiled from the vacuity of Locus Eyrie? No. Unread, the books were burned in the crematorium in public show of deliverance from evil. The library is as useful as a graveyard, and it's bleeding to death.
I make my way through the building and up a wide stairwell. The air is dank, musty. My steps slow, deliberate. I listen for signs of life but there are none.
Urfe: “Hello? Hello?”
A noise behind me, something clatters to the floor in the room below. I turn on my heels in time to see a black shape skate across the hall and disappear.
Urfe: “Hello?! Stop!”
No response, I stare transfixed unable to move. Just then a shadow snakes across the ceiling, its owner hidden from sight. I race for the stairs, trip over the rock (?) that borders the stairwell. My knee crunches into the top step, forcing it backwards into the joint. An agonizing bolt shoots up through the hip.
My ears and teeth pop as my brain registers the thud of pain, my heart hammering through my bloodless chest with rising panic. I grab for the (?) that hangs loose in the (?). With both hands I force the joint forward again and the knee cap snaps back into place. I look up, through burning eyes I see the creeping shadow climbing the stairs, swallowing the last pieces of light in it's wake.
Urfe: “Fuck sake stop!”
The shadow stops and starts to retreat.
Urfe: “Show yourself!”
I get to my feet and limp down the stairs, I am the pursuer now although crippled with pain. The specter sucks out the remaining light as it shrinks away and I'm drawn downward towards its invisible lair. I reenter the reading room, unsure of what insanity draws me in. On a large oak table guarding the door is an envelope sealed with a wax stamp. I recognise the stamp and a million spikes of the fire snake rush up my spine. My eyes dart around the room, my hearing's like a dogs. My flesh prickles with dread as I break open the envelope with shaking hands. Inside there's a playing card, I take it out slowly. The ten of clubs...
Urfe: “Ten of clubs? Is that supposed to mean something?”
There are words on the reverse side written in what I hope is red ink. When you're out, we're in. In the very instant that I read the words that line the card, a clammy flatulent rumble belched up from the depths of Hades. I ache to (enamel?), and the masonry in sympathy moans in agony.
“When you're out, we're IN.”
The voice is so close it feels like it's inside me, I'm frozen to the spot. I lift my eyes expecting to face my doom. My neck is heavy as a headweight. At the far end of the room, over fifty feet of murk away the phantom stands, arms outstreched. Black on black, so black it shines. A sightless likeless whip in the fabric of existence. Sans eyes it stares at me, and I stare back, hypnotized. And then it begins.
Slowly the arms begin to insinuate over the walls, a dark infusion rising upwards and outwards. (?) eating the blackness in it's wake. The fingers distinct, elongated and black spikes that move ever closer to my fixated stiff body. Cemented to the spot in terror. The head and body of the phantom rising to the height of the ceiling, a monstrous black mouth swallowing the library whole. Moving slowly, purposefully and steadily towards me.
(Again, can't get much here)
I turn tail and run as fast as I can, throwing myself at the library door and pulling with all my might. I can feel the darkness swelling all around me, all light disappearing as the demon bears down. The door is stuck. I'm pulling with the might of Hercules but it doesn't budge. I feel the blackness seeping into my bones, into my blood stream, the light being sucked from my brain. There's a pile of loose masonry on the floor, I reach down and pick up a (?) and throw it into the blackness. I take another brick, smashing at the door, throwing down at the latch with all my might. I make one last mental effort and the door swings free. I'm out, I'm fucking out I'm fucking free! And I run as if I've never run before.
Grief Of The Unclean IV
I run towards derelict buildings with boarded up, smashed or barricaded windows, graffiti adorned. (?) arterial spray, gauze, explosions of diarrhea. I (air?) past row upon row of burnt out cars and vans, upturned with their wheels in the air like dried insects.
The road is a lake of blood splatters and motor oil, my feet scrunch over rugs of broken glass. The air is filled with pained howls of the Kalifoth-she, routinely abused by their loved ones. Caustic soda anal enema's, spirit vinegar eye burns, broken bottle minge plugs, the whole shebang from your local (dissentor?).
I slow down as I come to the crossroads on the edge of town. One road dips towards the train station. Inside of windows splashed with blood and puke that make exceptional shapes contorted (?). A Kalifoth-she squeals and jerks with her mouth of obedience to deformed males, pricks the size of spade handles. A lone dwarf like brute forcing her jaws open, almost ripping flesh from the edge of her mouth. Wide enough to (?). Another member of the gang wanders up amused and spits to lubricate her arsehole. Rams his arm right up to the elbow. (?)
My mind is a flood of black images, of the horror of existence and survival. A dense brain smog that stinks of emonia.
A dark shape comes rushing towards me. Something strikes me in the back of the hip and springs away, a smack of searing pain and I collapse. Another crack as my knee buckles, through the smog I see a speeding phantom raising it's (?) for another strike. It strikes me clean in the face and reels away, spinning like a (?) but soundless. I grope around in the road in search of a weapon as the demon lurches downward, this time from behind. A discarded axle – the demon swoops past at lightning speed. I grab the axle and swing with all my might, striking my attacker full in the ribs. The crunch of breaking bones as brittle as biscuits. I swing again and again and again and again, each blow tearing off squelches of flesh. The demon swings like a top, a pinata filled with sticky ooze. Exhausted and puzzled by the lack of fight from the attacker, I drop the axle.
(?) from the constant low moan of the town. (?) Things coming upside down from the underside of the railway bridge. It's hands bound, it's eyeballs gouged out by some blunt instrument, dangling from their sockets by stringy muscle tissue. The two black holes stare out from the glistening brain matter. The mandible droops left, torn free in a lopsided grin. Two rows of teeth snapped down to the stump, the tongue spliced into three scarlet wedges. The mouth a hot gurgling orifice of raw mirth and glee.
I raise my hands to my face, baptizing myself with the fiends blood, my arms drenched with blood against the moonlight. I snatch another look at the bridge, trying to make sense of (?). A demon jolts from the end of the rope, struggling to break free of it's bindings. It jumps and jerks like a fish caught in a net, a guttural rasp escaping the throat.
(Can't make much out from the demon's speech)
Eyeless, it looks right through me with extreme prejudice. The creature grapples with it's useless tongue, each chunk flapping independently like a primitive proximation to language.
Demon: “Beyond the margins of the city wall Across a river of shit, of sulphur and salt Beneath the parched soil polluted with zinc Lay the tunnels of SUT, where the foundations sink Down to the marrow of a hell-bound heart There is the flesh pared away from the bone Layer by layer at scalpel point And with rusted wire cutters the legs and the arms Are hacked off piecemeal at the nape of each joint Pulled out like a weed, the head swims in shit That leads to the path that is dimly lit By the grief of the unclean, baptized with period blood And the snail snot trails of effluvia and vaginal mud It's here that you'll find the damnation you seek”
And with one last hiccup and insolent gurgle, the demon closed it's eyes. Falling into the welcome (tourniquet?) of death.
Grief Of The Unclean V
My blood runs cold in the realization that the last vestige of logic has been nailed to the cross by the throat and gonads, and gutted like a fish. Shaking off the patina of unease that clings to me like a used condom, I decide I have no choice but to make my way deeper into the District, beyond the known borders of Locus Eyrie and sanity itself. I steer clear of the main arterial road that leads to the river, preferring the (?) back alley's (?).
A sudden flare of light illuminates the landscape, and I catch a brief glimpse of the horrors ahead. My third eye is wide open, the inside of my head ablaze with the screams of the damned and their demonic masters. My fragile imagination suddenly haunted by barbed and alert serpents, my bloodstream poisoned by a flood of perversity and sacrifical slaughter. Every debase sexual act laid bare before me. And just as suddenly as it came, the flame is blown out, sight sucked clean of light and an increasingly odious darkness once again envelops my still born soul.
The alleyways stink of piss and shit, underfoot is a lake of sewage strewn with random floaters and bog roll. Human fingers, toes and clods of ginger hair. A limbless and headless torso floats by with the word “Cunt” gouged into unnatural white belly flesh. I assume it was a Kalifoth-she, but it's hard to say because the genital area is so mutilated that it could have been anything. The tits have been cut off, leaving two stumps of cauterized gristle smeared in shit and blood.
I turn another corner and find myself lost in a labyrinth of alleyways. From an undetermined direction I catch a low moan. Unsure which way to turn, which way to run, my heart starts pumping thick blood around my body and I feel feint with fear. Stop, think, how to avoid confronting the inevitable unseen depravity. Avoid drawing attention to myself, creep, don't run and avoid being the next carcass for the slaughterhouse. Another moan. Fucking shit which direction, I can't go back, another crossroads in the labyrinth and the last thing I need is fucking choices!
A howl from the dog filling the air above and around me, can't see anything. Another yelp and it's a long drawn out and static moan. I can't contain myself any longer and I make a run for it. Straight ahead, go for broke, run like fucking hell. My feet make loud splashes against the stream of sewage and I realize there's no way back now, they know I'm here and if they want me I'm ripe for the slaying. I'm running blind in a prison as claustrophobic as a basement elevator, I hear the squeal of a kicked dog and I know the hunt is on.
My legs feel as heavy as concrete slabs and my tongue burns the inside of my mouth, but I keep going. I run towards a shape in the shadows up ahead. It's a Kalifoth-she sitting down in the dirt, her legs in the air smeared with what looks like black mud. Between her legs is the arse end of a small boy, his peanut testicles and walnut (?). Shrunken yes but still a vibrating rod despite the cold. When the boy hears my approach his head turns sharply in my direction. But it's not the head of a boy that looks back at me, it's the pink head of a hairless bulldog with white eyes glazed with ecstasy like a veiny blind albino rat. It's lips and jaw are wet and slathering, munching away at the Kalifoth-she's twat. Splattered with dog food to entice the hybrid (?)-boy to eat out her pussy.
The Kalifoth-she hurls a volley of abuse at me for disturbing her sex frenzy, what manner of perversity this is I haven't time to find out. I leap over the pair of them and keep running and dogboy gives chase. With it's sexual appetite virtually slaked it's now ready for the chase, ready for the fight, perhaps ready to try and munch on my dick. Coming to the end of the underground passage my way is blocked by a high iron mesh gate, behind me the dogboy speeds towards me on all fours, snarling rabidly and striking the ground with a bound like a leopard on heat.
I start to clamber up the gate, I can't get a grip. My feet are fucking falling out of the holes. The dog is almost within distance, now striding ever closer. I can almost see the whites of it's eyes. I kick off my shoes and start the climb again. Success! I'm on my way. Dogboy lurches forward but I'm out of reach, just above it's head. I keep climbing. Kujo mounts the gate after me. One more stretch and I'm on the top!
I reach up with all my might only to see two finger ends of my right hand flying off. For the briefest moment I simply watch, unable to comprehend what just occurred, and then just as the shock subsides... A searing unearthly pain. (?) the stub ends of my ring and little fingers. The top of the gate has fucking razor wire, chopped off the two of my fucking fingers! I drop from the gate and hit the ground with a thud, dogboy half way up the gate doesn't know which way to turn, drops down on top of me. His teeth bared going for the throat. I do likewise and with my one good hand push down on his (?) with all my might, bitch slapping with the other one, ignoring the piercing and numbing pain.
(?) with blood splattered across the face and neck, his feet struggle beneath him, his teeth and jaw snapping (?). In the background I see the Kalifoth-she beating (?)
(Can't make much out here)
She drops like a sack of grain into a misshapen heap, followed by a loud splash as she hits a puddle of sewage. Finally the full brunt of the pain hits me like a sledgehammer and I sink to my knees, holding my hand to my chest. I bite my tongue so as not to attract more trouble. I rip a strip of fabric from the Kalifoth-she's clothing and wrap it tightly around my hand and fingers to stop the flow of blood.
After a moments rest, that's all I can afford in this hellhole, I strip the clothing from the Kalifoth-she's back and throw them over the gate to pad the razor wire. I'm going in, whatever the risk, and there's nothing going to stop me. Not even the loss of a couple of digits.
Grief Of The Unclean VI
I find myself in a tight brick square completely enclosed and locked off. The gloom of the night sky can be seen as a pin prick high above. The square slopes down on all sides to a steamy manhole in the center that looks like a giant arsehole. The manhole gives off an unholy stench. The floor is slippery, wet with vomit, human offal, rotting matter and bloody organs. This is the outhouse or cesspit for a high complex of flats and the plughole leading out beyond the fringes of Locus Eyrie.
I sit down in a (?) and slide cautiosly towards the hole, unsure of the depth of the drop beyond. But the momentum takes me and I'm sliding involuntarily towards the pit. My instinct is to slow myself, I reach out to gain purchase forgetting that my right hand is missing two fingers. The stumps scrape like chalk against the rough brick, leaving skidmarks of blood. I screech like a cat. My legs flail about, a build up of fecal matter between my soaking naked toes. I speed towards the lip of the manhole and drop over the edge, descending into the darkness, plummeting awkwardly for about twenty feet before my knee crunches on the concrete floor and I keel over. I'm almost unconcious with pain. I can hardly move.
At the bottom of the pit is a single low ceiling tongue that snakes off into the distance. Looking around I see there's no means to climb back out. My path is marked by ill fate. My clothes are ripped to shreds and sodden with blood and vomit. The tongue is freezing cold, lightless, airless, and menacing. I can't afford to take a rest, I have to struggle against the pain and drive forward.
I start to crawl through the tunnel on all fours. Each time I depress the injured left knee against the damp floor I recoil, a sharp spasm of pain shooting up and down the leg. My spine bending almost in two as though sawn through with a hacking blade. Progress, is distressingly slow and painful.
I can neither see where I started nor where I'm bound. The tunnel seems to get tighter, and blacker, with every minute that passes. How long have I been here? An hour, three, four even? Perhaps no more than twenty minutes. Without the aid of my senses, time stretches and fragments, until it either disappears, or becomes critical to being. My mind warps, unable to grasp any material construct except blind touch.
Time has shrivelled up like a frozen (?), returned from the black source inside me from whence it rose. I balked up time and made the world, now time has died. Fuck it, and the world dies with it. But free of time, I shit myself. Thoughts shatter before they take hold. I feel a rising panic, claustraphobia consuming me. I'm genuinely in the middle of nowhere, with no way out.
Am I dead? Is this death?
My mind oscillates wildly, surging between one memory and the next in search of the missing pieces.
Aged four and one half, holding my mothers hand as I walk along Blacksmiths wall in the dead of winter, (?) light held aloft by bright crystals of ice. Uneven sandstorms, slabs dressed in (?). Counting the ordered steps as I go. Four, five six, seven... the seventh slab slided, tipped and tilted. Mort the imp cloaked in black ice skates past and cackles and pulls me head first into the wall. Thud. Loud enough to wake hibernating animals. My face cracks the paving stone clean in half, my neck snapped, bent at a perfect right angle. My green (?) forehead pressed flat against the floor, pushing the earth out of the (?).
Am I dead? Is this death?
Aged eleven, the age of Shamanic awakening, hanged upside down to force stagnant blood thats boiling my brain. The lights go out in the house, and the black (?) enters with stealth, puts his hand around my clotted artery. Squeezes and stretches like a liqorice bootlace, rips it out like a plug from a socket. POP. Everything goes quiet and the back of my throat like a hidden drain, the blood pours out from the valve in my nostrils. Warm and cold, bitter and sweet, dark and light, I fall into a deep coma.
“Roll over Urfe, thats a good boy. Assume the fetal position, left side. Thats it! Now this won't hurt a bit”
“The lumber puncture is standard procedure, I've done this a million times!”
“Needle number one (?) nine inches long, daddy-coo! Daddy-coo!”
“(?) knives at the ready, stab the fucker if he makes a run for it” “Needle number two and three-quarter inch, long enough to get past the duramata, breaks the spine casing and lets us get at the yummy fluid inside!”
“What? Shit! Three quarter inch?! That should be the anaesthetic you stupid shitbag! Let's spike the fucker he'll never know the difference!”
Am I dead?
“What? It's not my fault, I heard he tried to hang himself on a guyline on a camping holiday, no older than ten at the time. Much to soon for any real results stupid little fucker! There's no excuse these days, when you've got to go you've got to go.”
“Please sit down Mr. Urfe. There, make yourself at home. I'm sorry to say the BMP test has thrown up nothing new, not even a clue as to how (?) causes you any discomfort. I'm afraid that I have no remotest idea what it is that's killing you.” (Most of what the doctor says after this point seems to be medical jargon so I'll skip it) Further. My skin is haemorraghing piss
Fuck. I broke myself. I broke myself. Fuck. I broke myself.
My manhood aches like a (?), like someone snapped it's neck.
Fuck, cum now, I broke myself. I broke myself.
Now I'll piss sitting down like a woman. Discharge urine through the end of my piss hole like a sewer (?)
(Gets all muddled here, can't hear much coherent)
“I'm afraid there's something eating you inside out Mr. Urfe”
Human intercourse, should be avoided at all costs.
Now where did that come from? A blaze of reason breaks through the insanity, soaking through the skin down to my downed senses. Suddenly a tidal wave of light floods the tunnel, I'm taken by the undertow and rinsed through by a flash of radiant energy. At last I can see. Where once I was blind now I see the way out, not far off, just up ahead, has the electricity been turned back on? A row of lanterns mark the way flickering and sparkling like fire flies above me. I draw my hand up towards my face and study it like a stranger. The digit ends bruised and alien, some even missing. How did that happen?
The cock in my pants begins to harden, but it's bent in two so it hurts like hell. These are the scant comforts of returning sensuality. I look back at how far I've travelled, but the way is drenched in darkness. My. Mistake. When I turn back around the sky has gone out again, and I'm back in my private hell. Thats when I deterimined the need to survive. Fuck. I'm losing my mind. Hallucinating like crazy. I've got to get out of the pit.
I crawl forward, following the residue of my recent intuition. An opening can't be far away, I feel it. This time though, I'll hold on to myself. (?) not to be taken by the demons in my imagination. I become intimate with the tunnel, connected to it in some obscure way. It's this thought that drives me on. Can any man dream his own death? Surely not, perhaps I'm already dead. But for me there is no tunnel of light to walk towards, to guide me towards paradise. I have been swallowed by the tunnel of dark, leading home to nothing.
Neutered (?). Dissolution. Void.
Then I see it, above my head. A glimmer, a slither, a shaft of light. The end game. Another manhole a mere twenty feet climb upwards. Impressed into the bricks is a simulacrum of a ladder leading right up to the rim. I don't hesitate, I speed up the ladder like a mountain goat, all physical pain reduced to an illusion. Sodden by relief, at the top I push against the manhole cover with all my might and it gives way easily. I feel the rush of wet air open, filling my lungs and I chomp on it like a glutton. I lift my head clear of the pit and hoist myself up with my elbows. Free! Free.
I don't care what horrors await me on this side, it's only this moment that matters. This very instant.
I don't see it coming. Razor sharp, lightning quick, an invisible (?). I take a single rock hard kick to the back and side of the head that splits my skull in two. The cerebrum explodes in a cloud of splinters. I hear demons sing what angels sing, biting and fucking each other. A hidden world expands in slow motion towards the ends of the universe. (?) faster than the speed of light and (?) my blood.