Besmeared the Tunic of Honour With blood of filthy crusaders Sword slit neat cut from throat to gut Their axes rape these woods no more
Wounds in the memory of earth Deeds of the morally corrupt Legions of a spiritual plague Marching under flag of a failed man
The woods have no concept of mercy
Phantasmagoriac projections nocturnal Led the frail-minded into terror Panicking, sweating prayers Scaring their stallions astray
Phantasmagoriac projections sepulchrally haunting Cast forth by the sorcery of trees
Misantropical Painforest Does not know pity For unfriendly invaders Misantropical Painforest Weaving its dream of magery and deep-rooted might
The pain you may feel in the deepness of its shadows Will tear your heart apart With the longing it conjures Longing for infinity And the abnormal purity of being
The woods have no concept of pity
The pain you may feel in your guts If your heart is insincere Is a sign of a forthcoming Misantropical disembowelment
Besmeared the Tunic of Honour The strong-hearted legionary stands Laughter so grim As the life of the mentally disturbed Is absorbed by the soil Of the forest-land
Honour for the ancient woods Untouched by the mankind's aberrations Honour for the spirit woods Untamed and ever-vibrant Honour for the purity of lands Where worries and haste are dethroned by depth Honour for the purity of heart Of those who adventure the forests With respect, awe and ruthless wits
The woods have no time for compassion
Human is animal among others And when the wolves howl at the midnight fullmoon The beasts of Honour Gather around the Centervortex Then new tales shall be told And heard...Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
