vilizations
that left the Earth more of ten times return to me;
it gives no repose to me again and again.
Standing in the forestand seeing the atricities...
all is inside me, and it comes back in the dreams.
The shaman dances, the masks are waiting for its demon.
The knife is in my hand.
The fog... will never crawl away.
My words are devoured by the bestial of silence
and in invisible chains shackle my moves.
The dream continues it's gush to reality
and the shaman drums louder the rhytm to his dance of death.


2. To The Gates Of Blasphemous Fire

The day is (always) going away and (the) night covers
the children of coldness and darkness by it's screen.
The frozen flame (in) wrath tears the letters...
The thirst is free and the rivers of blood flow to the unknown.
Death opens it's gates and the victims fall down to its scarlet lake.
The ancient cults of blood that give the pleasure
to the children of the nightmares and cruel reality.
The awesome castle stands where the flesh is worth a life;
the blood and the rage unleashed by the master of the night inside.
The star drops down its light through the gallow loop,
as nightflower grows in the appointed place.
One who tasted its bitterness will get immortality,
and the master will dip him into the stormy waters of blood and chaos.
The moon drops down the tears of light weeping for the great forests.
Its gladness is expressed in these drops
of silence and paradoxical eminence.
Ancient master!
Give the power to the children of nightmares and take their gifts.
And they'll come to your gates (that are) widely opened for them...
power, eminence, immortality, blood, death and chaos.
The castle!
The great castle!
The shelter for the ones who eternally search and find chaos.
In it those who give the true history to the world
and take the stillness from it...
We are on our road.
The blood is flowing,
the heaven is on fire,
we are awaited by chaos...
to the gates of blasphemous fire!


3. On The Moonlight Path

Go away day, give everything to the queen of the night
laying in the cold land and waiting for the full-moon (to come).
I see the leaving of life as a sweet dream.
My way is stretching into the abyss of eternity.
I don't try to hold for this life, it's damned by me,
and the spirit of Carpathians call my black soul to the moonlight path.
The dawn - the dusk.
The cycle is over for me.
The sun is twisted by the soars and it's painful for me to look at it.
Oh! My sweet queen of the night you gave me
the sense of life you gave me eternal pleasure.
I acquired the true vampiric art.
I'm on the moonlight path.
Hey stars! Greet me!
Do you hear me... the moon!
The tombstones are singing to me
and the throne of the damned belongs to death.
I celebrate the great joy together with the wolves.
I dance inside the circle of snakes and marsh of reptiles.
I'm indifferent to everything because I choose my path.
Blood! I swallow it.
It spreads inside of me like bitterness
and indifference in the world of true lies.
I was runed and humilated in a world where I've been insunderstood.
Through my teeth I talk about revenge.
The world will remember my name.
The moonlight path that takes my soul.
I'll take these useless souls one by one.
Your temples will burn like candles,
the children and your women will moan with pain.
Your houses will hide in blood by which I'll wash my face
playing with the moonrays on my path; on my moonlight path.
I scorn you sheep.
I scorn your flock.
To be your shepherd is my fate.
Bringing your souls for the sacrifice to my God.
I'll feed the wolves by your mortal bodies.
Death and chaos - all will be here,
and nobody else will see the day and the sun (again).
Therefore, I'm on the moonlight path.
Oh! World! I'll dance on your grave.


4. The Hands Of Chaos

To be the God - to be the Man,
to be the power - not to be a slave.
To be the Fire - to be the Hell,
to be the Ice - not to be the wave.
To be the Chaos - to be the Blackness,
to be the Moon - not to be the Sun.
To be the Night - to be the Darkness,
to be the Blood - not to be the Fear.

The hands of Chaos, the heavens burning.
I spirit on it... my last sacrifice.
The dark vails hide our faces,
in bloody dreams I hear the breath of woods.
To be the Dusk, to be the Dawn,
to be the Free, to be the Spawn.
High grass stretches its to the Moon,
it's burried in the grass among the deep forest.
The crack of trees is like the harmony of nature
that makes me listen to the silence.
I hear the silence, I see the night,
my hands are cold like the breath of winter.
The blood doesn't run through these veins, it left my body.
The wounds don't disturb and pain is gone.
The darkness is eternal!
And life of the master of blackness is immortal!
The hands of Chaos on the burned heaven ashes.
In my immortality has been born.

To be the Thunder - to be the Eminence,
to be Silence - to be the Grave,
to be the Sword - to be the War,
to be the peace - to be the shit.
To be the hird - to be the sky,
to be the cloud - to be immortal,
to be the God - to be the Man,
to be the Power - to be the God,
to be the Chaos.


5. Under The Banners Of The Horned Knjaz



6. The 13th Asbath Celebration

The bitterness was born in a soul thrusting the Atame sacrifice,
the "Book Of Shadows" is opened, we're waiting
for the full-moon's arrival - we're celebrating the thirteenth Asbath.
I lift my eyes, I look at the moonrise,
the Goddess of the night takes my gifts.
You came to us through your immortality,
attach us to the true craft.
Give us the power, give us the great understanding.
I draw the magic circle by my baton,
and the skull of the deer on its top starts to light.
Oh Moon, the great mother!
Protectress of our destinies and secret intensions.
Fly up and light our deeds by your limpid light.
Thrust your sharp rays into the Earth.
We're absorbing the full-moon power - this is the thirteen Asbath.
Let the blood of the sacrificed flow into your heart.
The bowels in the priestess hands are filled with water -
chaos that symbolizes the Moon and rules by it.
Oh, Moon, the great mother, we're absorbing your power -
this is the thirteen Asbath.
Naked our bodies we gash in the long-lasting dance,
goung around the circle repeatedly against the moving of the sun.
The nature is singing and delighting -
we're celebrating the thirteen Asbath.
Marble moon give us the power.
Our bodies are stewing and poison draught is ready.
Our circle is unbreakable, we're embraced by the only ecstasy.
The wine runs through our veins and our joy is gifted to darkness.
On the mountain tops, on the tops of the trees -
everywhere you look is the Great our Mother - Moon.


7. Cheremosh

[INSTRUMENTAL]


8. The Forgotten Ages Of Victories

The thunder of the drums is heard and cattle herds are driving back.
Sunset is driving near,
The heat of hoofs - all around melt away
in the shaggy beard of great and wise elder sunset.
The forests and the mountains surrounding the village
he covers by golden cloth - the night is drawing near.
Bonfires blaze up and the flame tongues raise up
to blacken sky like hands.
The hearers faces are visible through the flame.
The grey-haired elder opens the secret of his past,
through night and fire his word again find the youth.
His face covered with wrinkles like waterless earth
shined with life as in his youth.
And his tale was drifted through the time
to distant faraways of those days.
When the steel was like continuation of the hand
and the warriors were not afraid of their enemies power -
then moon was shining brighter and sun warned more times than nowadays.
The forest has been lighted by thousand of bonfires,
it have been seen that celebration has begun,
and singing drowned the noise of the wind
but (the) elder continued this tale.
When the valor and the honor was valued oved lie and hypocrisy,
when the pride and the eminence
was valued over the slavery and the cowardice.
The enemies cities and villages were on fire!
Blood and death, screams and mourns - Hell came out!
The honor and the praise to power.
The beat of hoofs and crunch of steel,
the scythe of death flied over this field,
eyes were looking into eyes and heavens were on fire!
The warriors heart melted and tears appeared in the old eyes -
the tears of the real master.
His hand is clenched in the first,
the teeth was gritted as that time,
the ages of victories are over.
It's now time to wait.
No sooner that the sun get out of continement
and the first rays let the birds know that the day had come.
No sooner that the herds were driving on the pasture
the hair of the old warrior was streaming by the breeze.
He'd been looking at the faraways
and didn't find that the celebration was over.
His thoughts were with those far times.
Like a cold shudder passed through his skin.
He rose and returned back to his house
not left by the memories about those distant times.
The honor and praise to power!
The forgotten ages of victories.