Trampled Under Cloven Hooves
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
He in a stable so adored Not once upon a rhyme In a manger weaved from straw It ripped the fabric of time Yet something else was born that night In the Devil’s care Fed nourishing at the breast of beast Lord of lies beware Wrapped in warmest skins of goats Bassinette of coal His mission, to murder God’s son And protect our swallowed souls Through the hourglass they became friends Playgrounds in the sand The eyes that pierce remaining soft Patient with dad’s demands Growing up with a twitch of mad Lusting for the spear Listening too long to those prayers Harboring no fear When the bough breaks When the bough breaks When the bough breaks When the bough breaks The cradle will fall Fall Fall Integral passion for changing the world To its primitive ways Collapsing all the towers of light Into a kingdom of shades Now with the force of dragon Evil brings a hammer down On his foe’s whole life’s work And forever kindness drowns Victorious in the killing of it Cloaked he’s moving on Into the brothel where Christ’s mother prays Her virgin womb be gone Spreading the legs and anxious to come Proud father stomps a hoof Waging a war inside this whore Satan’s second son the proof When the bough breaks When the bough breaks When the bough breaks When the bough breaks The cradle will fall
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
Waiting for the call of war anxious for the call of war set to destroy massivelly kill and burn and kill some more on the sea of hate any land will do victims now await berserker conquer you set to banish all mankind catch and steal bodies within we thrive on the taste of blood so the slaughter now begins me will die first torture under will women just for children berserker love the kill we grasp our batle axes head where cities lie killing everyone in sight search on for more to die kill again we can feel it now all opur rage is from the core violence is what powers us charge forth to kill once more.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
The hour beckons raging rain pours on my procession Behold lifes graces fell short of forever The friends that I once loved crept to despair As I decay in an unholy fervor consummate my Funeral Funeral Cries from throats of hypocrites Winds distract my march Coffins body drips with moisture the rain can cleanse no more Pleasing smell of incense befouls the garden of stone Funeral Pallbearers shiver as my soul descends Casket catches flames all rise to defend Spirit ascends from the box I lash out at the prayers At last I am Immortal give praise to what death bears Filthy mortals give me praise worship my quintessence Pay me homage for I have risen to devour divinity Kneel at my hooves and staff light candles in expectance Turn your back on Christ or no mercy at your Funeral Funeral
Submitted by Warbringer — Jul 01, 2026
There I sit beleaguered at my tablets in the pitch Rewriting what needs rewriting with wisdom of the witch In a chamber in a dungeon deep in an iron chest Gather up the wick and wax and flick our gaseous best Creeping down the paragraphs Disappearing line by line Editing the fire phrases Wither off the vine And so now, the burning begins Crackling of parchment, box made of tin Bible burner In my veins boils blood from Hell itself And the illusion of a good book slowly sinks But the epistle for the flock’s little angel wings Creeping down the paragraphs Disappearing line by line Editing the fire phrases Wither off the vine And so now, the burning begins Crackling of parchment, box made of tin Bible burner The Devil in a coil spitting venom Donnal moral cloaks and virtues Haunting the words of good By issuing fear and crimson hues Bodies below the floorboards Vulvae beneath the beds Your Jesus in his bedpan And the lambs all are dead Religion cannot rescue us Prayer books could never save Light candles in some effigies Your Jesus in a grave Bible Burner Oh holy words at your denounment Bring to me legend and lore Come what may to this coil I pervert all you stand for Unholy words, in your victory Teach to me thy spells of hex Come what may be it plague or death I will go into Hell’s vortex Bible Burner
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Aug 14, 2026