A Solemn Procession Across Ashen Fields
Marches to a Funeral Dirge
The grate of Worn Heels against blackend Stone
Onward to Ragnarök, and the Final Cou De Grace
To Sing a Lament to Stone Aether and Fire
Bring to Us Wind and Rain
To Sweep us like Dust from the halls of Time
Bring Thunder that Rips the Bleeding Sky
and Lightening that shall Split the Hallowed Earth
So that From the mouth of a Heathen Hell
May issue Balefire to lick the hems of tattered Robes
Bring the Oceans to a Violent Boil
With such turmoil that She will at long last give up her Dead
Let the Putrid Yellow Skies be choked with Ash
So we may never hope to see the light of Day
Hold to thy lips the Final Cup
A tonic to Release us from the ghosts of the Fallen
That we may embrace the Final Darkness
With open, Longing Arms