Cult Of Luna The Great Migration
Heed the capercaillies call
A premonition of an oncoming war
Leave behind all that you hold inside
The howls gets stronger, they are coming
Wicked is the atmosphere
Ungodly is the swell
Our bodies explode in true emotions
Let the beacon fires burn
The night is ours
A maternal light illuminates these last moments
Far above the truth, we find and we all return to hell
