1614 The ground was spoilt By death bodies In union they died as they lived The pestilential fog has spread His wings of downfall The wheel of death began to spin No recreation without transitoriness No resurrection without the chains of death In times of despair when all the efforts fade The strength of blood will rise up from the graves Here I stand on the graveyard, overcrowded but restless You cant imagine the smell Nor regard the forces of the liquid Dropping from the skull Drop by drop falls into the sea of sorrow No saving shore in sight Welcome to my hell In the name of the horned I take this lives to built your throne of bones And shall I burn in the flames of hell My powder will find a way to the chosen Beer and milk from the breats, yeast and blood Countless waves of grief Filling up the cup of pain My altar of retaliation Drop by drop falls into the sea of sorrow No saving shore in sight As I die in flames my curse will live and torment When drop falling from the skull Welcome to my hell
drop, saving, transitoriness, breats, skull