That night the stars shot madly from Their spheres and we're raging like a violent storm And the moon that was no crescent but His horns were visible within the circumference One saw more devils vastest hell can hold
Within moonshine we left to bury the dead The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve
The pestilence has taken our eyesight And our graves are gaping wide Everyone sets forth his dying sprite And the church way paths to glide Through dead bodies - nor rich or poor Anymore with stolen pride
Under black age toil we live
Oh scornful masters we leave our homes Under black age toil our sweat runs bold Let the pestilence resolve our end We won't leave our fathers land We won't learn trial patience for a customary cross
We've abandonded to relieve and heal Even strong men with their hearts of steel And the beggars, fools our knights and kings Met the demon with this blackened wingsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
