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 Septic Flesh Septic Fleshметалл-группа

Behind The Iron Mask


In an empty room eyes without a face.
They are stirring other images, glimpses of a distant life,
of a gone life.

The hands cannot identify the face
Behind the Iron Mask

Dim is within on the plane of the mind
a kneeled spirit under the boot of fear
cleansed with torture
traped in purity by the whip.
Daggers from sound penetrate
resistance behind each one,
a Holy inquisitor.
Mouths reveal the presence
of haunted beings unworthy to be said alive.

Open the window
Release the spirit from this empty body
Behind the Iron Mask

Draining pleasures from mental wounds
a need opposed to false excuses
unveils the greatest beast.

Septic Flesh

Behind The Iron Mask / Septic Flesh

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