[00:00.00] 作词 : THORESEN, STIAN TOMT
[00:01.00] 作曲 : THORESEN, STIAN TOMT
[00:25.43]Glowing eyes, staring eyes!
[00:28.69]Manifest of evil presence,
[00:32.35]With entities swept in disease and decay.
[00:39.09]A fall from paradise,
[00:40.73]beyond redemption.
[00:45.62]Wrathchilds afterglow!
[00:52.57]He who speaks of nightly treasures.
[01:04.19]He who wraps the serpent around my neck.
[01:16.00]He who pours poisonous wine in my chalice.
[01:27.44]He who lets me serve and slip away.
[01:45.60]So I will take shelter,
[01:48.86]in the absence of the light.
[01:52.41]Hiding like a masked miniature in the dark,
[01:57.14]a revenant without relief it seems.
[02:03.18]For the art of becoming a progeny,
[02:06.73]and to be raised in such curse,
[02:10.54]is to forever creep among naive mortals.
[02:17.28]Infesting the dead in herds.
[02:39.12]Infesting the dead in herds!
[02:55.19]His grandeur of guidance,
[02:56.73]in round trips obscure.
[03:01.80]He who immerse my hands in sullen thrills.
[03:08.64]His paths on which domination linger,
[03:15.12]he who dares to prove the sanity of mine.
[03:22.14]He who speaks of nightly treasures.
[03:33.80]He who lets me serve and slip away.
[03:59.81]Black unearthly void,
[04:03.05]creatures crawling.
[04:07.36]Forbidden forgotten,
[04:09.50]fairly underrated.
[04:15.17]Bastards in the shape of angels,
[04:18.28]holding my hands.
[04:22.41]Passing me what is left of the wine.
[04:30.48]Bastards in the shape of angels,
[04:33.82]holding my hands.
[04:38.00]Passing me what is left of the wine.

作词 : THORESEN, STIAN TOMT
作曲 : THORESEN, STIAN TOMT
Glowing eyes, staring eyes!
Manifest of evil presence,
With entities swept in disease and decay.
A fall from paradise,
beyond redemption.
Wrathchilds afterglow!
He who speaks of nightly treasures.
He who wraps the serpent around my neck.
He who pours poisonous wine in my chalice.
He who lets me serve and slip away.
So I will take shelter,
in the absence of the light.
Hiding like a masked miniature in the dark,
a revenant without relief it seems.
For the art of becoming a progeny,
and to be raised in such curse,
is to forever creep among naive mortals.
Infesting the dead in herds.
Infesting the dead in herds!
His grandeur of guidance,
in round trips obscure.
He who immerse my hands in sullen thrills.
His paths on which domination linger,
he who dares to prove the sanity of mine.
He who speaks of nightly treasures.
He who lets me serve and slip away.
Black unearthly void,
creatures crawling.
Forbidden forgotten,
fairly underrated.
Bastards in the shape of angels,
holding my hands.
Passing me what is left of the wine.
Bastards in the shape of angels,
holding my hands.
Passing me what is left of the wine.