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Below a pale moonlight

across the moor and the fields

above burning ashes

escaping from death

Away from the light of the day

we refuse to hail the sun

Into the world of shadows

a price must be paid

Of blood and for the blood

the rotting flesh is alive

And when the new moon rises

in the darkest night

the black light embraces the field

down the tower at north west

Among the mourning shrouds

blood is still flowing

Death crawls in the streets

as a mortal pale fog

none shall escape

the eternal mournig pyre

Like a strange disease

that goes on unseen

the mortal scythe

shaped like teeth

Days are cold

nights are freezing

what once was a symbol of hope

now brings death

When the full moon rises

the black tower shines

and his master dreams

sleeping in blood.