Dusk, time of death…

Gazing
About

At the mountains of black stone,
The elder untouched forest
And the dark, fog-shrouded lakes

The mages shed blood

Instead of
The tears they
Do not shed

As they cast their eyes upon the
Bright-bladed forces of the light.

War-hate

Impels them forward

To pronounce their spell

To blight and
To destroy
Their enemies

Or as many of them

As
They
Can…

As they die

In a dark
Sacrifice
For their lord.

They do not tremble in blood-fear,
These magicians, since their ending
Will be rewarded by their king.

Their hate will sustain
Their minds and their force
In their afterlife.

They have been promised new life
In forms of old rotting flesh
To continue their spellcraft
For the dark one’s own glory.

They complete their incantations
And even as they are consumed
They exult in an army’s death.

All those soldiers of the cross
Are sent to death to find
No truth in theology…

And though the mages also scream,
Their cries are of satanic zeal…

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.