Abigor Soil Of Souls
Souls of infidel men Is a fertile soul Like dusky forest grow On fallen leaves We draw the essence of mortal weakness Holyness - the worst gift of light Is long dead and gone Buried by our sisters ages ago Whilst the sun rapes the day Grow borns below Armoured and strengthened are the sons of the moon And not blood keeps us alive Souls of infidel men flow through our veins One last silent scream One last breath The moment we appear from the shadows To inhale another soul Of an infidel men
