Into this gloomy winter sky, your tore souls cry, lying near this dark lake I can feel the cold wind of your suffering & remember some obscure northern legends. Your're the children of the moon, holders of the pagan light but your memories are dead. And the mystery stirs in tragedy, since thousands years I'm the divine consciousness of your torment souls. In a world of decriptitude & frustration human dreams are such fertile ground for sowing the seeds of torment.
Frightfully voluptuous cruelty, man is so forseeable and despicable that my work is justified. Thou shall endure the worst brutality! I want to hear again this symphony of grief. When I look to the stars & I travel through the constellations, I take consciousness that the human life is insignificant, but soon from an unknow external dimension shall blow the winds of chaos, then this earth shall be clean to the hypocrisy of the weak.
...And you'll hear the symphonies of wrath.