Gathered are they, the wolves from the north
And the tribes of the underworld hordes
From pagan wastelands
Joined with them have they
The stench of blood. Holy blood!
Have penetrated their woods and fields too long
Ravens flew as messengers from hill to hill
They brought harsh blasphemous chant
As ancient as time it self
Whispered by the wind which
Cries for the waning moon
The beholders of the cross, shall
Be mesmerized by fear
Their fate denies the fact of such creations
Man, beast-the hordes of the underworld
Bound by chains foged by pagan blood
To night they shall feast
Tonight the ravens and wolves shall feast
Upon blood, of those of the
Light who beholds the cross
Beneath the remains of a civilisation
Centuries of sorrow!!!
Centuries of pain!!!