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Description
Darkness in the hour, is the only known law,
When the bitter, human soul sinks it’s rotting jaw!

Perish, ye all with hate infested,
While the sparks of love still with life glint;
And all who live shall lay here wasted,
When fate will leave her Black Ring’s imprint!

Now the time has come to die,
Loathly piece of cursed drench!
The Darkness seeded bleeding rye,
In the Black Fountain’s demonic trench.

Sheaves of wheat still cry with sorrow,
Over word so vainly spoken.
The dark fire in blood-red morrow,
Lay destruction of virtue broken.

The Devil trapped on the Throne of Cunning,
Issues curses with infernal greatness,
No wretched man now gives thought of running,
And waits for Death in soul-grinding madness.

Now, the Runes show no hope of answer,
And heart must decide his own cursed fate,
While feeling the swirls of the Hell’s dark dancer,
This heart in apathy falls now innate.

The Black Fountain now floods the scorched fields,
Of human’s barren, wasted, old soul,
And no word can save the life that it wields,
For nothing can stop her infernal, black bowl.

Run for your lives now, that’s your only hope,
That, a dark and perilous really is, path;
Or just stay where you are, repented just lope,
And only give up your small, earthly wrath.

The choices we make - the guidance of life,
For those who try for their own, pure cause;
While humans who tend to vigor by strife,
Be damned of seeing their own heart’s jaws!

Description
Darkness in the hour, is the only known law,
When the bitter, human soul sinks it’s rotting jaw!

Perish, ye all with hate infested,
While the sparks of love still with life glint;
And all who live shall lay here wasted,
When fate will leave her Black Ring’s imprint!

Now the time has come to die,
Loathly piece of cursed drench!
The Darkness seeded bleeding rye,
In the Black Fountain’s demonic trench.

Sheaves of wheat still cry with sorrow,
Over word so vainly spoken.
The dark fire in blood-red morrow,
Lay destruction of virtue broken.

The Devil trapped on the Throne of Cunning,
Issues curses with infernal greatness,
No wretched man now gives thought of running,
And waits for Death in soul-grinding madness.

Now, the Runes show no hope of answer,
And heart must decide his own cursed fate,
While feeling the swirls of the Hell’s dark dancer,
This heart in apathy falls now innate.

The Black Fountain now floods the scorched fields,
Of human’s barren, wasted, old soul,
And no word can save the life that it wields,
For nothing can stop her infernal, black bowl.

Run for your lives now, that’s your only hope,
That, a dark and perilous really is, path;
Or just stay where you are, repented just lope,
And only give up your small, earthly wrath.

The choices we make - the guidance of life,
For those who try for their own, pure cause;
While humans who tend to vigor by strife,
Be damned of seeing their own heart’s jaws!