For everything around me which I experience is cold and dead The blood of others are of a colder substance and taste Therefore I must spill and serve, The blood that in me runs vibrant In the frost of the dying minds, Of Western society I recreate It will be the resurrection, In the year of the Holy Roman Empire,Of the brotherhood of holy death Of night times to come and last Lay my sword upon your throats The day of which I shall,Upon the mighty warriors, Of the land of northern regions Upon the shores of our desolate coast within the waves I can see the wreckage floating ashore of the dying culture And so I greet those who still have eyes to observe and see And who still have courage to break through into the dying light
For everything around me which I experience is cold and dead The blood of others are of a colder substance and taste Therefore I must spill and serve, The blood that in me runs vibrant In the frost of the dying minds, Of Western society I recreate It will be the resurrection, In the year of the Holy Roman Empire,Of the brotherhood of holy death Of night times to come and last Lay my sword upon your throats The day of which I shall,Upon the mighty warriors, Of the land of northern regions Upon the shores of our desolate coast within the waves I can see the wreckage floating ashore of the dying culture And so I greet those who still have eyes to observe and see And who still have courage to break through into the dying light
