Feel it coming, the storms from the north the dying light, the artic darkness the wind that extinguishes life the cold that cracks the earth all consuming obscurity the storm of the beasts who lurk in the shadows three winters in a row the beginning of the end the might of ten thousand plagues winds so sharp its cutting you to pieces look to the south! the sons of fire riding fast We are the onset of bestial darkness Grow shall the germ of death they bear On impurity we feed, grow strong Breathe deep the poisonous serpentine mist Get ready for pain, get ready for death a posionius black mist ceeping into every pour devourining you from the inside Helpless! Powerless! Behold! The eternal black eclipse! Behold! The gates are swung open!