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The moon is pale, its light decays,

A thousand shadows twist and blaze.

The whispers crawl from iron gates,

Etched in blood—the Sigil of Hate.

We curse, the plague, the scorn,

The horns that pierce the deadly born.

Sigil of Hate! Mark of scorned!

The Build more altar, let chaos be born

No sins, no creed, no false divine—

Only fire in the dead god’s shrine

The mountains crack like broken spines,

While forest wolves drink blood like wine,

The Sigil burns... the end's not near,

It's always been...

The ravens feast on angels’ eyes,

While serpents coil ‘round hollow skies.

The stars are smothered, black and cold,

As cultic kneels—to our shadow’s throne.

The world now drowns in endless night,

No heaven left, no futile fight.

The Sigil glows—our will is done,

The age of man is dead and gone.