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Gathered are they, the wolves from the north

And the tribes of the underworld hordes

Heathen men

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!!!