The rotting trees have snag'd the sun from out the skies
No longer can her light ward off we things who do not die
At night we'll congregate, your gates won't keep you safe
Locks & doors are not the law, with just our touch walls will fall & fall
Lo! The cold moon rises!
Death metal fiends rise from their graves.
Your wretched faith folds no surprises,
Forsake your cross & be our slaves or we send you to the grave...

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