For everything around me which I experience is cold and dead
The blood of others are of a colder substance and tasteTherefore I must spill and serve,
The blood that in me runs vibrantIn the frost of the dying minds,Of Western society I recreateIt will be the resurrection,In the year of the Holy Roman Empire,
Of the brotherhood of holy deathOf night times to come and lastLay 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 cultureAnd so I greet those who still have eyes to observe and seeAnd who still have courage to break through into the dying light
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