The Mouth of Judas - Primordial

I am cut from the cloth of Judas

And have seen his face in mine

The weathered hands that turn the pages

Are scattered in the sun

My ship has the blackest sails

Yet no wind to drive like slaves

You cannot see from shore

That it casts no shadow upon the wave

The sepulchral crawl with us

Over land and see they hail

Deadened hands upon the rudder

Groaning on the gale

They will dash you against the cliffs

'Til every brittle bone is broken

Jutting rip and gristled knuckle

Is gnashing on the foam

I am cut from the cloth of Judas

From the hangman’s hand itself

The long stare of the condemned

And the cursed song of slaves

«And you who follow me to make

Sure I do not exceed the span

Given to me on earth I take

Care old Shadow of a man

Dead God of all my god’s own snake»

Free me from the hangman’s hand

Free me from the hangman’s noose

So bend your knee before the majesty of death

You struggle for breath and lay the dead head to head

So bend your knee before the majesty of death

You struggle for breath and lay the dead head to head

So they stretch from the womb to the grave

Let us tell you the first journey of men

The first murder, the soil so red and barren

It burns so red and barren