Sons Of Perdition The Rapturous Call Of The Transmundane
Beyond the reach of the fire's cruel glow
Past the fields and hedges
A bellowing voice, so old and so low
Calls out from shadowed legend
Come thee to the old glen
Where we shall dance again
And when the gold morning comes
Arise and shed thy skin
Who shall heed that invitation
To be lost in endless mists
To wander eternal through circles of stone
Ushered by the will-o-the-wisp
Come thee to the old glen
Where we shall dance again
And when the gold morning comes
Thy avatar transcend
So huddle in fear with thy kith and thy kin
In that wan circle of warmth
And guard against the eerie summons
That howls from flesh without form
Or come thee to the old glen
Where we shall dance again
And when the gold morning comes
Break free of the mundane
