A secret expedition had come from before
A dearly expedition was brought to us all
Amidst of the winter the snow was
belayed
Arriving the ruins you could near their prayers.
Their dead talked,
Their dead danced,
For their
masters.
As if their souls burned from the grip of death
Their dead since
Their dead killed
For their
owners.
As if they were crying to be released
From their afterlife cells.
At the necropolis - Always at the service of
majesty
At the necropolis - Keeping the door open for the ones
To come
In this secret journey no one was told
That all
that had seen this would in the course.
Their dead robbed
Their dead fought
For their slayers.
Vanishing enemies
without any chance of a stand.
Their dead cried
Their dead died
Once again
Just to be release from their energy cells
we call
Soul.
At the necropolis - Always at the service of majesty
At the necropolis - Keeping the door open for the
ones
To come