Hortus Animae. Chapter One: Furious Winds / Locusts. Zeneszám

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Time for the burning...
Wings that smolder all futures, with no respect for all beings.
(They) Seethe, like rivers of loathing and foretell the end of mankind.
The verb of rape is spread.
Of torture, scorn for lives.
Burnt grounds along the path where emptiness is found.
Naked trees so lifeless are left by with a dead walk, devouring all the flesh of frails, tears are dried by loss.
Soul-less' sorrows for the worms, carcass is the dwell, left alone, all will is gone and now the earth's undone.
Time for the burning...
Humanity next to death row, then pace to holocaust.
You, grinding creatures moldy, in the void your cries are gone.
As furious winds here come the locusts, the demons of the war.
Decay is now the keyword and it's time for the burning.
Time for the burning...
Wings that smolder all futures, with no respect for all beings.
(They) Seethe, like rivers of loathing and foretell the end of mankind.
Time for the burning.