Tekst:
Celtic Frost Morbid Tales Emperor S Return

might The tyrant's the precursor You carry the will As the morning is near I sing the ballads Of victory and defeat I hear the tales Of frozen mystery

the might The tyrant's the precursor You carry the will As the morning is near I sing the ballads Of victory and defeat I hear the tales Of frozen mystery

The Crypts of Rays... Alluring children for his masses Robbing and buying young souls Sacrifice to morbid demons Satisfy his repulsive sexual lust Gilles De Ray's

Obscurity hides the plateau Stars darkened at their place Nanna's glowing above Illuminates the silent scenery Seven they are-Yeziti's Call Aeon of

morbid dreams No tomorrow when the wind caress my mind Could I ever return, it would be my doom Obsessed by the nightmare's sound Drifting back into

lying on the floor Don't ask for another messiah No martyr will save the stupid (again) Is truth what you believe? A prophet's tears will dry... What