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The scythe of Saturn

Gripped within the clenches of death

Mors vincit omina

For all must follow the path to the 7th gate

Mors vincit omnia

Dust into the void

Breath into the wind

Ashes in the water

And blood into the soil

The light shall raise us

The darkness shall tear all down

Silent as the mortal curtain

As death makes not a sound

Azrael, help of god

The angel of certain death

4th of the horsemen

Mors vincit omnia

Sickle bladed steel

Reminiscent of the crescent moon

Cleaver of the sinews

That cling the flesh to the soul

As gallows in the forest

Carried on distant winds

The imminent approaches

Forever gaining on your back

Hark the angel of death

Beneath shadows of his wings

He who holds the hourglass

Taker into the underworld

The scythe of Saturn

Gripped within the fists of death

Mors vincit omnia

For all must follow the path to the 7th gate