Feel it coming, the storms from the north
the dying light, the artic darkness
the wind that extinguishes life
the cold that cracks the earth
all consuming obscurity
the storm of the beasts
who lurk in the shadows
three winters in a row
the beginning of the end
the might of ten thousand plagues
winds so sharp its cutting you to pieces
look to the south! the sons of fire riding fast
We are the onset of bestial darkness
Grow shall the germ of death they bear
On impurity we feed, grow strong
Breathe deep the poisonous serpentine mist
Get ready for pain,
get ready for death
a posionius black mist
ceeping into every pour
devourining you from the inside
Helpless! Powerless!
Behold! The eternal black eclipse!
Behold! The gates are swung open!