The cloudfire scorched the sky which burnt to ashen grey.
The blue reverence bowed before the darkness
and as the blackness started to reign the endlessness,
the home of the glowing embers has been born.
I landed on the ground with my grey wings.
The mountains and swamps surrounded me.
The whispers of the forests guided my steps,
into the dense forest,
to the place forgotten long ago,
to the pagan and untouched gate.
The witches walked their last dance.
Their screams echod.
I stood amongst them, into the circle,
for only thus theyinvited me into the secret.
The power of the key
my soul'syet untouched pain,
called the old ruler.
I bowed and buried my hands into the fallen leaves.
The bag's blood flowed onto the ground
what my hands sucked into themselves.
The gate opened.
I have seen the branches of the trees,
possesed by the blackness of the crows.
They have condemned my way.
Sign From The Empire Of The Moon
...riding my black horse I gallop in the night.
From the light of the Moon fire springs,
which stries my face.
I fall to the damned ones, to my grave.
Yet the sign only burns mysteriously,
as I leave the way of the stars.
Smoke and fog of a dark cavern
flows into my face.
The way has already been trodden,
the torches are carrying meaning
in their solitude.
I look into my soul's hate stream,
Into it's flowing, calm prophecy.
I am doomed to be a warrior,
for I am a builder of the Hall of the Deads,
I sacrifice my horse with my sword,
To become one with the running infinity of the space.
The underworld posses me.
I change... my face burns and the branches appaer,
covering the streams of my veins.
I am dying... my prayers gain
no bearing in my brother's eyes.
I yearn... into the grey light, into the infinity.
I calm down... when the immortality bears a new star.
Night is falling; the forest is prepared for the ritual for the funeral
Wrapped into dusk and fog,
showing the way into the dark nature.
Gods and demons are sacrificn
on this day...on the chosen day
Lilith to the twilight
Moloch to the night
Belzebub to the endless space.
witches are murmuring prayers,
at the altar of the forest.
Summoning Berstuk, the mighty
and Pan the spiteful.
Lilith, the twilight.
Moloch, the might.
Belzebub, the endless space.
The light of the moon lights the circle.
The stars are summoning the universe.
The streams become red.
The rocks begin to move.
The dead animals snarl up again
The signs, mhich are relieving the pain of my soul.
The child of breathed prayers borns, the silence.
The Wrath Of The Witches In Storm
An owl glided among the trees.
Only the light of stars wanted
the dusk to be buried by the night.
Seeing their march, hiding into cowls
and holding torches, with the chosen words,
now they spoke the storms.
The clouds came, the nature awoke.
Rain drops fell into the fallen leaves,
and the flames died for this rebeemer moment.
Their flying dreams,
the celebration of nature.
Encouraging, way-showing sign of the screaming silence.
Their voice fell with them,
as the owl to the funeral of the storm
for your souls' awakening for dance on this chily,
but rebeemed night.
Oltárom a fagyöngy, szomjamnak nyugtatója.
Oltárom az emberi csont, életemnek földi porja.
Oltárom a késem, véremnek utat mutatója.
Oltárom a természet hangja, a mindenség megalkotója.
A homály, a rejtély, a vágyódás, a beavatás.
Szorongás, félelem, titokzatosság, a megfoghatatlan.
A dob szelleme, a bagoly lelke, a hold szeme, a rét ereje.
Testvéreim keze. Hitem tüze. Dallamos igéje. A kapu kulcsa.
On my altar a mistletoe, calming my thrist
On my altar the human bone, terral sand of my life
On my altar my knife, showing the way of my blood
Voice of the nature on my altar, creator of the universe.
The mist, the mystery, the desire, the initation.
Anxiety, fright, secretfulness, the inconceivabl.
Spirit of the drum, soul of owl, eye of the moon, strength of the field.
Had of my brothers. Fire of my faith. Words of the tunes. Key to the gate.
Voice of the river, the orator of fright, flying tortures in the kettle, mingle
Where power is endless, and anonymously dark, bringing fog on our eyes,
The seal of respect gets on our soul's shield, I bend forward with respect in
the feast, over image of the gate
Carved bodies with entwined hands, the last sign of the power of the round gate
We step through the gate of the naturem at the end of the floor, we find rest
There was a time when man spoke through souls the dead looked after our steps
Once man hoped with mind, so as the son of the mountain, the stone crashes
We were born... recalled... sacrificed... buried...
Blood Of The Mountains
I had a dream about an age
Stepping out from shadow.
Spelled words glowing in my eye
About the ecstasy of depth,
far in the rootsof the trees.
My blindness was conducted by my steps and worships.
My dawn-instincs called my attention.
Soon blood springs out, the heathen devotion.
The spirit of the vale is wakening,
The olds in it chop the throat of life for ever.
We erect a fortress around the dead mountain,
Bury the past and throw sparks at the birth of the blade.
We wake up past ages
And devotion will be back with as.
Red wildness, a home of the universe
breaks off his chains for ever
and fire awakens in the lakes.
When The Halo Is Born On The Black
Black sky, dark and scares me.
The son of the Moon now summons the four elements.
Now even the fire in numbed with cold,
when the Hell raises and I go into battle,
as the ancient forestgods.
The ruler of the mountains,
seer of the light of the stars - SATAN!
The flooder of the rivers,
inciter of the Armageddon - SATAN!
I light a candle at the alter,
and pour my blood on the cross.
At my cursed statue I revive my home.
BERSTUK! LILITH! BELZEBUB!
Open the soil, and let the reveemer child be born,
the halo of the Moon,
where even the fire is numbed with cold.
"Oh Nature, who hath created for un our ANECIENT EMPIRE.
I am your daughter and blood. Take my life!"
"Now I offer my children to you.
Them, who are needed for the appetite of my flesh.
They pacify my anger, my hate.
Now, be this one with you!"
"I am unfathomable!
I am evil, because so you created me!
I am your son!
The chalices fill up with blood.
The horde prepares for its last feast.
Soon the war borns again.
Flame of pentagram darts up to the firmament.
The crows greet the reborn horde with deathsong.
Suddenly a smoke-form flies over the pentagram.
Howling tears the falseness.
Black angels snarl facelessly to the unholy night.
The lord of winter, the prince of frost brings the Hell.
Pan sings blasphemousodes,
to which the anthem replies with thunderbolts and summons the spirit of storm.
A scream and the creation annihilates from death into rebirth.