Erythrite Throne Inhaling The Sanguine Mist
Stand high as the holy kingdom crumbles with the fog
Pierce the heart of the high king, inhale the sanguine mist of god
The battlefield runs red with the blood of angels
We step on the bible as we spit upon its pages
As the fog rolls in at the foot of dawn
We ravage the kingdom as we march on
Disembowel and eat the holy spawn
We march for the glory of Aamon!
Fall! As you stare into the eyes of hatred
Crawl! For the glory of Satan