Through the black sharp mountains
Up the winding stair
Up, up, up, we're almost there

Shadow and flame
Broken bones and dirt
The call of drum and horn
From under the earth
Softly uttered groans
Leaked forth from age-worn stone
Men of honor falter at the horrors they have known

That is not dead which can eternal lie
And with strange aeons even death may die

Behold the nameless city
Older than legend itself
Birthed before the Angel's fall
Before the gates of hell

Primitive altars
Fashioned not by man
Carvings of antiquity
Worn away by wind and sand
Worn away by weather's hand

That is not dead which can eternal lie
And with strange aeons even death may die

From the twilight shadows
Time ceases to exist
Nothing upon nothing
In the black abyss
Nothing upon nothing
In the black abyss

Behold the nameless city
Older than legend itself
Birthed before the Angel's fall
Before the gates of hell

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