Behold the flowers of a spring so soon,
Its harvest leaf in foul brown bloom.
Whirling fog and a cauldron of stew,
seer's drench haggard witches' brew.
Es werde Nacht...
Trembling choirs from children in their graves mouldring so
Old corses' morbid grace.
Oh, I hear them, still don't fear them!
...und es werde Finsternis!
Here's to you ye
Twinkle at your misthung battlefield
Or breathe in the moist den's bed.
Dem Totenvolk der Kelch des
Uncloak me miracles from a Kingdom.
Come, king of the woods, lords of the Atlas,
Whispering takes long lost and
Den Lebenden der Trank des Hexers!
From bloodstained Stargates to hellish forges
And skyelad summits to the eeriest
But now depart for my road goes yonder,
A road that darkens while in light I wander.
But pierced with beams when