We ride by the south mountains
On the cold and silver morning frost
I hear the louden ride of the centaurus.
from the ancient world
They open the black time gate of power and magic.
That through for the ocean clean
And abnormal images are put among black clouds
On the mountain gate.
In the magics throne He looks the abism
endless as a labirint of torments
Dawn dominium of rebellion angels.
That speel fire and hold lakes and
Wing slaves in this world of impure nature
Where a cash of demoniuns stand for the battle
A terrible vision something no
By the less human race.