Lux Occulta The Birth Of The Race
off the sinister heavens I strip the arc of moon the cosmic sickle starts the deicidial harvest I am the wheel of fortune that grinds your chest the fruit of the storm and the kingdom belongs to me the time has come, your time, my father this is my fate to raise my hand against the silver temples that is my fate to set up new order the castle of clouds shakes this is my fate to get the sword and paint the mountains red the crescent of moon ploughs his breast cry, cry all spirits, the old one is dead drops of his blood whirling around changing their colours, altering shapes his purple juices transform into angels hosts of lust, Dionysiac tribe regicide sword, bull-horned god brother of all spirits, lead your troops, lead us to Earth, feed us with flesh feed me with flesh teach me substance lightnings, thunders... he is not dead he regains his strength spears of royal curse bullets of royal wrath lightnings, thunders chase us ...but we'll be back ...some day