Текст песни Patrons of The Rotting Gate - Pride In Descent

Our kin, the ones we love and the ones we abhor. Their expressions are plagued by resentment, They're seldom seen with the veil tore from their exasperated faces. If skin is shed their body is caressed by the unfamiliar and haunting wind. His flesh, unaccustomed to the sun's yield is seared by the unforgiving light.

Envisioning the monoliths of morality crumble, nebulous shadow talons bore into his ribcage actualising his bestial metamorphosis. Evolving beyond the steel cords of communion and rage. Ash spawned blades rip through empathic vines, and they mutter his blessed name; Demon.