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Follow the black smoke

Follow the stench into the deep

Drawn in by the lingering, dark,

sour reek of impending death

Use the craft to perform the duty

The unquenchable thirst, the miasma of rot.

Surrounded, completely.

It speaks, it calls.

From the filth it stretches into her nostrils,

The demands of Mors are binding.

Death and nothing more.

The thirst floods the mind,

Incontestable urges, the hunger engulfs the body

Inescapable as the hunger of the wolf

The hunger not of body but soul

Taken by moonlight, delivered by the witch

For the privilege of life and the curse of time

With limitless rage, explore the power.

Explore the fresh hells behind your eyes.

With limitless rage, explore death

Mirroring the fear of despair

Follow the stench into the deep,

Drawn in by the lingering dark,

The sour reek of impending death,

The demands of Mors are binding.

The limitless anger of the great antiquity

The hunger not of body but soul,

Taken by the moonlight,

Delivered by the witch.