Funeral Might

And blood becomes the light, so conducts the night
Cold Morta came howling
Marking the curse with a five-pointed star
Raw grave of torment
Screaming now at the moons' dolor
We're feeding on the dead
A vital lust, longing for blood
This wrath born to razors
Clawing forth towards the brazen sky
This wrath born to razors
Raging forth with funereal might
And blood becomes the night, so conducts the night
Even Forneus, Marquis of Hell cowers now
To our phantasmic rule

You must fear the ghost of nightfall
When dreams from the sky will stare
And feel the breath of our call
The moon conducting the nightmare
We're feeding on the dead
A risen thirst, longing for blood
This wrath born to razors
Clawing forth towards the brazen sky
This wrath born to razors
On the grave of your christ, denied
This wrath born to razors
Raging forth with funereal might
And blood becomes the night, so conducts the night