Three times the eclipse.
Before she lay her soul to rest.
Channeling the darkness of many nights,
All this was once her dream.

See and feel,
The blackened blade of revenge.
Cold white towering mountain,
The passage to the land of the phantoms,
Deep forlorned woods,
Where the gleam of neither light or bliss reach.

"The castle lies in the mist,
Between the mountains and marshes.
Through the last centuries,
Have the moonshine enlighten her coffin.
The black soul of the hunter..."

The hungering thirst,
For the enchantress of the night.
The hungering thirst,
Evil, devour its soul.

And since the medieval times,
Have your shadows haunted...

Eternally sounds the mighty waves,
A triton's hymn round a rock-strewn grave,
The passing sigh for the bones that moulder,
Over the nordic black sea, where the winds btew colder.

Here in a bed of wrack and shingle,
Beneath rests a sea king of the north,
His fallen history remains unknown,
Now his grave is just a heap of stones.

"The waves crest sharp as an unsheated blade,
As spume-topped breakers shorewards loom,
And boulder on boulder on land is laid,
The triton's hymn round a vanished tomb"

The ocean cradles it's sleepy wave,
Round the curve of the yellow sand.
Of the bleak and mysterious little isle,
Where no leaf has been touched by human hands.
Then I behold that island so fair,
Where the tree's lift their crown in prayers
To the golden glow of the evening sky
I hold the sword towards the moon,
My memories echoes with cries.
Hark, to the ocean's cold clamerous roar,
The pale mist hovers towards the nightly shores.
For the fire in my burning flame,
Hail to the father of the fallen flame.

Acknowledge the supreme Northern (racial) purity.
That runs in the blood of my veins.
As the nocturnal curtain falls
With the total eclipse of the moon above...

The pale mist hovers towards the nightly shores.

Once upon a midnight dreary. while I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-....
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one, gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'Tis some visitor' I muttered, tapping at my chamber door....
Only this and nothing more....

[Fretless Bass solo]

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each seperate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow... Vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow.... Sorrow for the lost Lenore-...
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-...
Nameless here for evermore...

The vast windswept wastelands,
Cold horizons opens.
Many traveller has set their course from here,
Few of them have returned.

The utter darkness,
Bleak visions of emptiness,
And the veil to this portal,
Lies in your own belief....

When thousand moon has circled,
In the shadow of endless nights,
The wage of eternal life.

Among the old tree's,
As the dust covers every flower in bloom,
The mourner hide their eyes,
To reap the seeds and harvest.

Withering flowers of the northem autumn,
Shall never thrive again.
The time has ceased,
Now my dreams are true...

Ahh, Dance through the cold shadows of Pan
As tears fall from heaven...
Once I had hold the rarest rose,
But, that is now forgotten with time...

Among the tree's I wandered,
To feel the embrace of etemal eclipse
As my candle bums out,
-And we must make the myths...

Dark is the moon at harvest,
The nightly mist approaches
Through the forlorned marshes,
-Then darkness has now been achieved...

"Crush your earthly virtnes,
As I stumbled through snow and frost
My feeble heart is longing for the wood,
Where all dark cast a shadow..."

It's pale morrow landscape,
Has now risen through the bleak night
Over the moors and mountains,
Flies the hunting ravens... searching,

Dance through the cold shadows of Pan,
As tears fall from heaven,
Then, once I had hold the rarest rose...

Frozen is my pagan heart,
And once again the dawn is here
Hear the sound of silence,
In these trees...
Are my gallows...