Theatre Of Tragedy

Albeit, daresay I, the lullaby of an everso dark sleep.
R: My precious,
Likest thou what emergeth yon the distant?
The throbbing and breathing of life's machinery!
LK: Wanion its oh so damndest soul!
With the devil-instrument it we shall reap,
After the banquet obscur'd in our thole,
Its blood so lovingly across our faces smear
Lord of carnagel,
R: Lady of carnagel,
LK: One funeral maketh many,
R: Swarm god's acres;
LK: Two indeed more:
Blest treat of delight -
R: Give praise for the blood it bled,
Grant a rose for the dead!