Fog, on the coldest night Creeps the whispers, the thickest mouldy breath Up against all deafened ears, secrets flickered, sharp as flames It is old, it is unknown Touching the frosted stone, like a serpent's husk A cancerous, malevolent, parasitic, soul disease
Under salted waves, the greying sky Demand a service in wrath By the mountains high temples rusting And the markings of claws Pointing to fires above
From the deep beyond sanity The ancient race
Claws and fingers reach Seeping out of the conscious The precursor to madness Creaking open the door It rears its horns It's calling out
Black grit entered the mouth and eyes and ears, worked its way between his skull Trying to make him a part of the ocean, just like the dead things They saw darkness, felt unbearable presence in the icy cold of unknown deaths Do you see it?
From its resting place, it is the night, the terror and desire Touchless and looming it borrows, deep inside of all minds, open the void Expand the evil, expand the hate, and in its frailty In frozen, unknown horror, boundless lunacy Of aeons Death
It is night, it is unearthed, and from the seas and from the crypts On the winds, blowing madness through the mirror, of aeonsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
