Forward in throat of dying heaven. Come down to chill and crystal gloom.
Hundreds arms are pulled to each other, tearing off chunks of rotten flesh.
Black clouds gathered in the darksome mist.
Horde of spirits crinkling from hatred and sin rush to a bottom of fatefull Malmstream.
There, where angels burnt their wings upon infernal flames.

Wrath is whipping mighty crowd of demons, awaked by impious, loathsome rites in fame by them.

Unholy lord, creeping from the heart of burning hell, enjoys the taste of final sacrefice.
Winds are drained into gusts of musty hurrican, hung the steel of guillotine over head of miserable world.
Lightning blows, spliting bloody sky like blade of hangmans axe cuts the skin of feeble neck.
Rage of dark empire will ruthless. Only fear, pain and evil laughter from other sides is hailed by new blashemy.

To gorge huge warm bestows travel to unholy infinity already long millenaries.

Through place where humans dreams don't penetrate, as poison drinked from crystal
Ritual cap, wreckage of steadfast eden is falling in the endless womb of silence. Cruel vengeance.
Forward in throat of dying heaven. Come down to chill and crystal fucking gloom.