So with indescribable impulsivity The sun has turned black And like a terrible dream Shakes all the firmament
And on the earth makes heard the cry Bitterness and endless laments The glory is forgotten In front of so much disgrace and sores
Monarchs of iniquity Master of usefulness Wounds of mankind Why these mysterious creatures hide?
Alive to find you, alive to persecute you Full of a morbid hope, the disciples were condemned In front of thy black enchantment, I sit to cry Invisible magic
In front the thy mortal look The tyrannical edge of second death The eternal fear of decaying soul We’re tongue disciples Tongues to manifest
For the cold, for the night, we have me evoke The sacred names of old mysterious words My prayer, my song, is a hymn to intone Guardians of the spiritual plane Slaves in the imaginary abyssal lineTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
