Ya fue, se ahogo en su nada nuestro contrincante. Perdio, duro su guerra lo que un pedo en el aire, fue!! Yo me banque, de mentidores trapero arrebato
, Without honor their roots. Creatures who flee the war. The only way to show, The supremacy among the peoples We will triumph in the name of
It?s an exercise, So euthanize! For shapely hips and thighs. Cut the butt, In a fuckin? rut Quell them then, Hush those saddened sighs! You win the prize
The earth trembles and shake, The soil breeds flames Demons rising with wings of fire And He comes forth, the fallen from grace Risen in rage With swords
A. Branduardi / Dai 'Canti carnascialeschi' di Lorenzo De Medici detto Il Magnifico Quest'e Bacco e Arianna belli e l'un dell'altro ardenti: perche
grains of trapping sand My triumph is! that i'm still here My triumph is! I'm not over yet My triumph is! I fought the storm. My real triumph! I
the arena of death they shall fall To the delight and enjoyment of all Verbera strike deaths blow The last ones my hands shall know Triumph I have seen another triumph
Oh my problems come and go I need the one I need the one Oh my life goes fast and slow I need the one I need the one I need the one All I want is perfect
primeval god finally returns comes a sound of triumph I hear his voice a dawn of evil prayer a raise of million hands revelation of our dreams I open
[recorded during first album studio session'94]
[Originally appears on "The return of the northern moon" demo 1992]
Primeval god finally returns comes a sound of triumph I hear his voice a dawn of evil prayer a raise of million hands revelation of our dreams I open
Dawn of the sixteenth century... Rome the whore spreads wide her legs for Luxury, Lechery,and their bloody corollary... Hypocrite town built on heathen
ESTRIBILLO Triunfo gritaban las voces del barrio Triunfo de noche siguieron gritando Llegando la madrugada aparecio tu recuerdo En mi mente tus palabras
[J. Nordavind '96] A cold sharpened blade plunge through the skin. Death triumphant. Death the king Blood on my hands. Blood on my lips I took the
Empower your servants, there will be anarchy All evil will rise and Gomorrah will be here Burn the holy book, the book of tales and myths There is a
A poetic rhythm brought by the storm No grace, no glory - pure pleasure in Pain Two horned master is on the rise Deaths riding in by the storm they
Bright headlines used as a calming injection. In the mirror of lies I see the reflection Of buried thoughts and stolen freedom The absorbed struggle