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A soul profoundly macabre locked in the golden cadaver

Put in a dream as a timeless wreckage

Like a wound that breathes the sordid sighs of sardonic might

Which by night ignites the flames of our end.

Such flames are burnt in an empty hearts of men

Nailed to their coffins and carved to their death

Banished from their flesh (an entity of the dying kind), abandoned from their pain

Such ominous fires burn to sermonize the hate of slain

A soul so deeply macabre, dwelled in the golden cadaver

Put to (the) death as a timeless bane

Like a cry of a blind eye with no tears to soak the flames of the end.

Through the void they seek the eternal bliss of the cadaver

The atrocity, the ferocity of the mourning bell

As the flames arise from the wooden shroud, shape the crimson cloud

From the golden mist comes the Devil’s gist, sets the world to burn, viciously.

Through the void I’ve reached the eternal bliss of the cadaver

As the yellow mist cut my life and twist it to nothingness

While my soul arises from the wooden shroud, shapes the crimson cloud

Putting life behind the golden walls that once were flesh

Cold and pale is the silent vale of the cadavers

There the essence of men comes to an end, proclaiming death.

A soul profoundly macabre unlocked from the golden cadaver

Wherefore the flames arose from the wooden shroud and shaped the crimson cloud

And with the golden mist came the Devil’s gist, set the world to burn.