Summon thy hidden wisdom, gather the unholy hate
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Winter is at hand, frozen my tears will be
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Created by blasphemy
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The edge of my sword, the powers of my mind
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Winter is at hand, as two torches blaze in the dark
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A warrior dressed in black, granted eternal life
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Black winds blow my hair, as the voice of the night
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Whispers my name
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Blackened ground, misty sound
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Hear the call for war, the master calling his
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Warriors to explore by the sign of the horns
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As the dawn arises the souls of a thousand
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Young men shall go wild
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As the fire shines into the night they're sitting by
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The campfires awaiting the dawn
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Black Winds
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| Satyricon |
