Twilight are condensed above an old estate. Rite's expecting last minutes before the end.
For ever to let him comes in our reality, slightly opened occult veil.
Hands shiver in expectation of phantasmagoria, mad eyes run on shabby pages of forgotten rolls.
Again under the gloomy arches of cellar, impious singings flying that chilling blood in swelled veins.

Again air will become impregnated with a musty smell.
Dead weak lights bearing cold and horror, saved rage and hatred in dark of basements halls.

Air breathes danger, who knows what harm lives behind the seals of time and alien deformed space,
Respond to call of that hunter for occult Unknown, but its too late the shadow has hung up above the torches.

Who will leave from behind of closed door, its will be human or the beast,
Awaiting for it's freedom hour? Whose shadow's creeping from the depths of frightfull gloom?

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