Thy Sulphur Throne On High
Ego Sum Papa (I Am the Pope) I am the pope, blistering all Arch fiend of a thousand worlds Religion collapsing and evil converging Tornado of fire engulfs Ego sum papa, I am the pope Biting the fig for your glory Into an aura, and off of his altar All hallowed be whose name? I am the pope, Ego sum papa Father of the reptiles and vultures Bringing to boil the seas of blood Trances wrought by lullabies Ego sum papa, I am the one He of hooves and long horns The master of the human cauldron Stirring the God soup forever
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
The Poisoner of Galilee Yahwaste, the poisoner crafter of illness Burdened by God’s love of thunder At the helm of the donkey’s phallus Is the wretched witch and mother Her breasts glisten under moonlit tapestries Bestial wanting wrapped in gold Canst the hungry of Earth be fed By mother’s feces and mold? Dancing at nighttime’s birth and length A surrounding whim of lust Carried away with the love of the beasts Shallow the plots of mistrust Come by daylight’s haunting presence Hues of yellow and greens Simple cravings of nature and nurture Eaten alive by fiends The poisoner of Galilee, ungodly again Reaps as they wither away Few and forgotten in sands of the past Scatter the bone ash of prey Oh yes, thou art forsaken And on a pedestal, thee will be placed For all the fools to bear Some witness, some burden and lo, Someday your spine will be exposed Stabbed by your brother With a coldest hand They father loves you more Now that you writhe in pain Three upon the trees Like the withering trust of man Between two thieves Fragrant like the Sumerian dust
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
Mammon the Ghast It is inside us all of the time Courageous and pompous, plotting… A spirit deep in our bellies, yearning The ghoul that devours reasoning’s rhyme Mammon the ghast drives us to murder He craves what drips from our siblings’ gash Spook of a thousand tongues, lapping The feces of your mother and son Oh, the sin of human frailty is wondrous Swelling of his appetite infinite My wand casts spells of lust in the dark And with pleasure it is unleashed Within me lives the bearer of rubbish The lord of swine be gone Mammon my master giveth me the trumpet That I may sound the call to arms To swallow this world and its goodness whole I will claim its dead as my parish No shackles of mind or body imprison For I go on…and on… And on
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
Toil & Trouble Old world dynasty crumbling away Mystics pine for the crown Heathen kings common bringeth hammers To crash your heavens down Naught but ash and rent asunder Shores of gold cook to jewels Magic wands battling with meaningless talk Hope is the son of fools Toil & trouble is the banner of might My cauldron boileth over Madness connects the stars to reason Constellation's power With targets locked, inspected for ages The guns are armed for peace One fell swoop upon an empire of light Now goodly knights the beast Hags reciting the pledge of disaster Mutate the word of Paul A cloak of dust blankets the globe In the clearing stands Lord Saul
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
The Black Angel Thwarted on all sides atop a steed fast it rides Drinking from a chalice that drips poison Nor would it weep with the trumpets out of heaven It is crawling from a hole in Palestine All your weapon’s majesty, thrashed upon the dunes Will rent asunder Galilee again Worlds will collide, Hail Mary’s will subside And the priests cry blood at my confession Black Angel plucks the beard of he, the holy man Into the labyrinth he is cast Penance leads to naught whilst revenge, what treats it brings The payment for a callow monk that kills Heaven in which father holy our A thousand years: the solitude is done The fevers and locusts will seem like a carnival As the foulest one as ring master sings The Black Angel Roll the dice incessantly with snake eyes every throw By the lantern see the cloaken ghost appear Gambling away the being that I was called to be The angel spreads those wings of crimson fear I see a palace shimmering in a day of hottest red An oasis drought in Jerusalem A call to arms awaits me as I gladly grab his hand Assassinating every pig I see Come to me filthy one smile upon my deeds This race of animal have become dead Tempests are roaring of my win against the fawn Sweeping as a broom across the trash In flight my master nods and gives his praise of love The gutted corpse of Israel decays A chariot approaches and it burns across the skies The angel gives to me the trumpet I signal this world’s demise
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
The Empty Chalice of the Semen of Saints Under the floorboards encroaching the slugs Exhuming a dynasty of the sickest men Secret clan of princes of the holy Lap with love nectar of their brethren Round table masturbation oozes sperm Twirling dancers vain with limp members Suck out the flavor from Christ on a stick Bring to new heights the orange embers A dizziness captures The weakness within Lust has no restraints Drink all of his gift Leave not a drop in The empty chalice of the semen of saints Bishops building bridges from goodness to Hell Through each devoured child they claim Stamp the mark of devotion inside them Rotting from heart to head to veins Cauldron of entrails boiling and steaming This endeavor of rats and poison Never will come to an end it lives on In the wasting shells of God’s children So in the howl of night When no wind is silent Your last faith faints As the priests belch And slam to the table The empty chalice of the semen of saints
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
Scourge of Worlds Sever ties that hold this coil Bound to crumbling Hell beneath Watch the atoms split and burn As seething leeches pledge to seep Summon beings from worlds long dead Through orgies and some bestial rites Castles of transcendence ooze Eerie creeps who loose their might A hero rests inside a coffin Lord cadaver of plague and peace The selection is unnatural Uphold the law until release Bringer of what cannot be killed Our deadly monster empire Lechery within thy family Lie with dogs and catch the fire Scourge of worlds, tyrant Kingdom is never come Spawn of the underbelly Praise the fearsome Wince at the sight of the vessel As the climb becomes small and tight You can’t stop moving to the top The upward spiral takes your air Open the wizard’s door to frost And you cut wide open the breadth And a basket of magician’s delight Is emptied into the sky Wasting what seems a lifetime On fissures of rotted talking monkeys And roaches that bleed in fright
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
The Bestiarii Rosaries Whereas thy folk sleep with eyes wide open No waking cloudless morn wilst come Triumphant is this veinless legacy of men Overturned uprooted in such disgust As to cloak in the dark and despise Cadaver games lost in endless checkmate Soaring moves of cat and mouse Of lion and wolf, eaten and ate Beads wilst beckon but blood will drip Love without shame these beasts must rip Hands together to the sky ever clasped Into a ceremony a circus bizarre To the willows her ashes are kissed Suffer the children offering for disease Lust, lingering the bestiarii rosaries
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
He, Whose Number Is Nine Cloven but aside him is silence Cold the vengeance that burns In this rage a secret kept creeping Spells where mind matter churns Hooded and beside him weapons raised Revenge heats up the chill Sworn foes our energies doth converge The showers of flames kill Blasting the tyrants inside of me General of Wars still fought Sip from the glass of victory Sorrows of Heaven sought Binding the sides of good and evil Collapsing will and walls I am the bearer of ill tidings King consumer of laws Aside nor inside I have become Him, whose number is nine Ruler of the air and of the ground Him, he who bears the sign
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
Ego Sum Papa (I Am the Pope) I am the pope, blistering all Arch fiend of a thousand worlds Religion collapsing and evil converging Tornado of fire engulfs Ego sum papa, I am the pope Biting the fig for your glory Into an aura, and off of his altar All hallowed be whose name? I am the pope, Ego sum papa Father of the reptiles and vultures Bringing to boil the seas of blood Trances wrought by lullabies Ego sum papa, I am the one He of hooves and long horns The master of the human cauldron Stirring the God soup forever
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026