Open the gates, here we come upon the tides of Acheron
The souls of acrid carrion bear no nepenthe to anchorage them
These passages flow infernal, native to the nocturnal
Beneath these austere waves of spite will emerge my fleshless acolytes
All miscreants shall undergo and unearth the tongue of woe
There is no purge where they will go, their despair will be sewn
Breathlessly subsisting, weeping their amends
Onwards we still go
Into Acheron we descend
Spirits screaming in vain for me to take away their jagged misery
Little do they know it is not I who controls
I'm just a messenger of death on this dreary coast of sorrow
Unshackled by their deity
Left to sulk as stagnant shades in an odious melancholy
In a corrupted daze, amongst my sails they writhe
Shattered by such frail beliefs, their faith has been crucified
Never ending they will fall, cruel beginnings shape them all
Unconsciously seduced by this river's blessed contagion
Everlasting they will crawl along the shores of Avernus
Newly deceased beliefs mangle their last thoughts of salvation
Within the wretched, unwillingly they bow to ill fate
Embracing every fear, flourishing in the throes of hate
Drifting closer towards the realms of unsung vile
Dreadfully, this is where they'll eternally wallow among these Lethean floods
Becoming unhallowed with lust
These unblessed stygian depths will guide us to the end of sensation
Never to be reclaimed
Revolving aimlessly through the corridors of damnation