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Unreal figure of the ancient time,
crossing the earth and the sea.
Halfway between life and death,
Bringing mourning and many ills.
Striding the hills, sowing the seeds of despair.
reaping our souls, holding your heads by the hair.

This man, taller than anyone.
stronger than you could be.
leads his harvest with coldness, you will refuse to feel.

Draped in the black shroud of his last day as living.
Beaten to the four winds such as the sails of a baleful ship,
pulled by horses arisen from hell.
Carrying our bodies left in a wedge then left to rot.

This man, taller than anyone.
stronger than you could be.
leads his harvest with coldness, you will refuse to feel

Hey! you! No matter who you are,
poor people or wealthy bourgeois.
No ! no matter the faith,
he don't give a damn of the sign of the cross.

Hey! you! No matter the fate,
You will suffer from his mortal embrace.
Yeah you! when your time is done,
offer your neck to the deathbearer.

A baneful voyager with only anger as a burden.
running these lands by nights without stars, sailing on an ocean of sorrow.
his face as white as the snow, almost as cold as his heart.

hey! you! No matter who you are,
poor people or wealthy bourgeois.
No ! no matter the faith,
he don't give a damn of the sign of the cross.

Hey you! you! No matter the fate,
You will suffer from his mortal embrace.
Yeah you! when your time is done,
offer your neck to the deathbearer.

Some nights, the clinking of his blade,
resounds straight back from the hell, knocking on heavens door.
calling mortals to do their final contemplations.
What the hell is going on?
These sad complaints rythmed by the croaking crows,
answering to their cries and final vows.
will toll the knell of an existence yet incomplete.

The stink of his passing, sustained by the breeze,
of the youthful dawn that seals the night.
that will happen again, tomorrow and for eternity.

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