I ache for the taste of cold steel, For I feel I will not prevail, Through the solstice, Of winter, My hatred for life ever stronger, Yet I tread frostbitten fields, As a cold moon sends shadows on the forest, Alone, I walk on, But an aura fills the cold night air, Satan takes me along this path, And brings me upon a desolate woodland, And my wishes are granted, With the barrel of my gun, The pentagram burns, Black candles mark the points, As I ask the prince of the south, To grant me the strength to pull the trigger, And pass through burning obsidian gates, Ritual suicide my only release, In Nomine Satanas, In Nomine Sarcalogos Occisor,I yearn for the end of existence, And trust my remains shall burn, I want no christian burial, Bring torches to my funeral

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