The Cold Mist Of Funeral Empire
(Nocturnal Worshipper)
I hear the first tolls of the Bell
Far away striking lenghty and grave
It's the omen of the blackness that is coming
The gloomy strokes of the sentence
Freeze the heart of the enemies
That ever feared the prelude's Night
The reopening of the Black Age
When happened the devastation
Brought by us, sons of the Throne of Ice
Winter Bestial Horde swarms into rows
Arms raised in a diabolic act of war
Sweeping over this Land
The Cold Mist of Funeral Empire
And the Lord of the Ages called us to War
Brothers, creeping and carrying all to Death
Following the Leader, the Master of no Light
And the Hammer, the lawful weapon
Of the legitimate sons!
Cold steel forged in fire, blades sharpened by slaves
The blood of the enemies will sprinkle on this Land...
Warriors of the last Millennium
Revival from old ruined crypts
Black marks of eternal memory
Bringing forth from ancient times:
Hate and weapons of Battle
Fortify us in our will to conquer
Eternally eclipsed by the Dark clouds of Disgrace
Opening the Twilight that faints the sun in Hate
Intense evil turns into gray the South Hemisphere
And the top of the Conquest of the Obscure can see
Sweeping over this Land
The Cold Mist of Funeral Empire
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