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On the dolorous hill where the wraith
of the dead kings gather
their freezing breath and their mournfulness
that were buried by time and dust
embrace my flesh and blood.
Under the sinister clouds of starless night
mysterious winds from the beyond heal
my flesh and blood.

Their void prayers of feeble voices
from wandering souls of fleshlessness
are the omen of shadowy goat-horned storms
that reap my flesh and blood.
Blazing choir under the secrets of hell.

Lunatic lights of the funereal moon
dimly light up the wraith of the dead kings.
Their void prayers of feeble voices
from wandering souls of fleshlessness
are the omen of shadowy goat-horned storms
that reap my flesh and blood.
Blazing choir under the secrets of hell.

Satan!
Let me join the blaze of hell
where eternal rottenness growls.

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