By the swing of the scythe a Revelation shall be given, to Consolidate the realm of Terror, breaking down like A hammer all the wear Walls of sanity, a disease... The skylike precious stones, Protectors of the black soul Are attacked by traitors but Inside the fires of hate grow Bigger and rougher, fed by the Desire of revenge, the spell of Black omen that left on the Surface a small part of the Total complexion has been Refused... once again the path To the core is widely open and The return of the tyrant Shall be sung through ages To reach the armet of
The pandemonic fires shine Dirhearting the ones of the Right path. Naked hands with No weapons but armed by The fires of rage, fingers of Iron opress to strangle until The reaper comes again, Couldn't it be that such a Powerful poison could be Asimilated by the one to die, And the one to die learned From it's killing formula And create from it and even More dreadful one shooting Back the secret poisonous Arrow to it's coward owner... This is it, such a rotten soul Can not be killed by spells Of the mortals, in return Here it comes, the chaos!