---

Grim cold caverns, standing at the edge of the earth.

Wretched little spawn, sitting at the helm of all he surveys.

Bones of the dead and obscure trivial things,

From the depths of hell, and of magical origin.

Amassed with intent for invoking of the demons.

Advent darkness ascertains commencement

Of pagan rituals, to summon forth

The legions of demons who shall rise from the dead

And come to the bidding of the wretched little one

Thundering skies

Panoptic gray clouds of doom

From which the lightning strikes

The encompassing vile wind

Ravaging the cold barren land

From bloodied heavens, hell descends

A raging fury in the form of pure evil

And blood that falls in form of rain

Marks the coming of invoked demons