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A figure of the dead stays

Among petrified souls

That have surrounded

This walking corpse.

The signs of the death illumine the sky,

With that light decay appears.

Black marks of rot dot the hands

Which are raised towards the heaven side.

The figure of the dead begs

To pronounce the one last word

But a deathlike silence

Comes from the ghostly circle.

There were lots of atrocious

Tortures of the flesh.

Souls must be released

From this cursed place.

The scent of blood

Can quench its eternal thirst

To be avenged

And raised above the heads…

Above the heads of ghosts…

Its arms embrace these trembling spirits

And make them stand in silent watching

Of the fall of everlasting fear that will never come back.

Its name was forgotten.

Its name was forgotten.

Its name was forgotten.

Its name was forgotten.

There were lots of atrocious

Tortures of the flesh.

Souls must be released

From this cursed place.

Now they are free from the chains.

They are free