dead you look so old hands are numb your face is cold eyes of the dead eyes of the dead eyes of the dead crusted black putrid face all are dead the
of ancient crimes My murderer stand in silence outside Above the bed slurring white shapes, they're watching me I can already hear how much I'm dead
idiot box power supply, fuzz vapor, black out of New York, hey honey, get the generator I'm in a doom, doom generation, pacin', ancient electric secret
the Day When they buried her in Stone Her Eyes still not closed She's waiting for me Dust on her Hands, Blood in her face Tears in her Eyes Visions
sanctified for work Cries of terror harmonized to a song Spirits of wrath restrained And now dead is my wife Ripped apart by iron teeth Slashed by the claws of steel The ancient
Oh how I dream Pictures of the ancient times The executioner awaits on the stage In the eyes of the mob Through which the convicted Are dragged, scorned
hell! As I tell the ancient words A circle of blood, lines of cum Possess my body, free my black soul Look into my eyes See the burning hate that boils
Horseman of the apocaplyse For my esophagus breathes evil that just demolishes Abolishes, to the darkness of Mephastophales Mental enteral that went through an ancient
your hopes and dreams behind Make haste divide this nation Take over the world There is nothing left to murder Complete disregard for human life This ancient
remained thought. Endless, unbearable run. if you fall you're dead. And these roots try to suck your strength, These branches tend to pluck your soul through eyes. Dead
Age has arrived In dreams, Scarred olden visions Revealed through eyes that have once seen :battle! As blood stains the crimson soil Spirits are unleashed Arise from ancient
, soon my weary eyes shall see again From the black mountain a cold wind blows Standing stones along our path bear marks of ancient runes Midst howling
take him? [ALTARUS:] The king was compelled to lead his forces to the shadow-haunted Mountains of the Dead, a grim and brooding place steeped in dark and ancient
to the King in the same long dead tongue it had burned upon his mind deep within the Mountains of the Dead. One hope remained to defeat Angsaar, but
spoke once more to the King in the same long dead tongue it had burned upon his mind deep within the Mountains of the Dead, the essence of the Immortal
Veils of frost entwine me in the haze of baleful moon-cursed dreams, I hear the High Ones whispering ancient spells in the long-dead tongues, There is
