Scythe wielder, upon the pale horse Harbringer in an aura of doom Whom severs the mortal coil And inhales the dying breath
Abstinent from mercy Often summoned by fear Though his presence may be dinstant His arrival is imminent
Mors tua - vita mea
In sihlouette of Saturn's ring A shadow, dimmed and devoid Eclipse of the dimnished flame Into smoke and ashes Into the arms of Azrael
Bringer of fate Reaper of the spirit Descending from a darkened sky Upon the pale horse
The lunar sickle Alignment into the harvest The curved blade of life and beyond Forged not linear But twisted into form Who wields the scythe Upon the pale horse
Abstient from mercy Often summoned by fear Though his presence may be distant His arrival is imminent The pale horseman descends Bearer of the scythe Harvester at the veil Ender of all life
In silhouettes of shadows Which the aura eclipses the light Equestrian of damnation The taker, of life
Risen above the fallen grains of sand Which have sunk into the hourglass The body once a temple, now empty And all that once held life, no longer remains
Fate bringer - reaper of the spirit Death dealer - from upon his pale horse Descending from a darkened sky Upon the pale horse he rides Cloven hooves of the fiercest storm Which beat to the pulse of tempests To release the living energy Which never dies And always changing formTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
