Hour of the wolf is drawing near Soft blood flows in emerald starlight Host of the labyrinth, fool or seer? Prophet of wisdom, bathed in glory Hour of
Fordítás: Christian Death. Óra a farkas.
Wherein reclined the Countess Limbs purring from the kill Bathed in virgin white and like the night Alive and young and unfulfilled Was it the cry of a wolf
peaks Wherein reclined the Countess Limbs purring from the kill Bathed in virgin white and like the night Alive and young and unfulfilled Was it the cry of a wolf
Darkness fall over my cold northland Winds of purest ice Blow over the fatherland of forest and might Light dies down, as it's death is at hand Coniferous