Disciples of sacred fire

Glory of war, oh god of flames,
crucifixes reflecting on your eyes,
sons of fire, mirror of death,
stone faces and hearts buried on ice.

Disciples of sacred fire,
the sacrifice of what is material, of what nothingness has,
take and desecrated in this time of darkness,
pull this blood and make it your idol,
perverse and massive dark horses around you.

Sons of Fire, souls of horror and war,
sons of the flame, masters of terror and the earth.

Disciples of sacred fire,
draw with your blood the face of your spirit,
desecrate this soul, stained of lighttake and mark it with black seal,
nourished yourself of your superb power
lift in the sky the swords and cross them,
while you, tormented and suffering soul
turn toward the hell and the damned.

I feel the fire, feel the heaviness in my eyes,
I see only darkness, the ashes of a body swollen with anxiety.
I look at the sky, night in it, tormented by burning flashes,
I hear the wind sing, the leaves speak, silence cry,
I am the Son of Fire.

The nocturnal hymn of death goes with you
perverse and massive dark horses around you,
while you invoke the black
sanctity shout the triumph of your battle.
Disciples of Sacred Fire.

Sons of Fire, souls of horror and war,
Sons of the flame, masters of terror and the Earth.

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