Satyricon Black Winds
Summon thy hidden wisdom, gather the unholy hate Winter is at hand, frozen my tears will be Created by blasphemy The edge of my sword, the powers of my mind Winter is at hand, as two torches blaze in the dark A warrior dressed in black granted eternal life Black winds blow my hair, as the voice of the night Whisper my name Blackened ground, misty sound Hear the call for war, the master calling his Warriors to explore by the sign of the horns As the dawn arises the souls of a thousand Young men shall go wild As the fire shines into the night they're sitting by The campfires awaiting the dawn