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At the womb of the stone torches crouch for shelter
Shaped clouds from glimmering lands
Have been reaching out too far

Here ache for an intimate saviour
Catch a carrion moon, hear a grieving sun
And a grim warning not to leave the village
When the polar night falls...

Sought a golden view from the white roof of earth
No safer triumph, no holier supper
Clawed his soul, began to eat his frozen heart
Perish in polar hiss hysteria!

Red rises the haze between teeth
It has thus been sincе ages
Yet the chants havе lost all tragedy

Many have come to be slain upon the alter of ice
Many that imagined footprints of God
While the noise may throw wires and sever heads
These wombs had never given him birth
To raise sword against the void that feeds
Is a sign of a savage trance
And a hissing trance is wherein he remains
He who is drained of pure red
Polar Hiss Hyteria!

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