Grim cold caverns, standing at the edge of the earth. Wretched little spawn, sitting at the helm of all he surveys. Bones of the dead and obscure trivial things, From the depths of hell, and of magical origin. Amassed with intent for invoking of the demons. Advent darkness ascertains commencement Of pagan rituals, to summon forth The legions of demons who shall rise from the dead And come to the bidding of the wretched little one Thundering skies Panoptic gray clouds of doom From which the lightning strikes The encompassing vile wind Ravaging the cold barren land From bloodied heavens, hell descends A raging fury in the form of pure evil And blood that falls in form of rain Marks the coming of invoked demons