We ride by the south mountains On the cold and silver morning frost I hear the louden ride of the centaurus. Warriors from the ancient world They open the black time gate of power and magic. Transsilvan winds That through for the ocean clean the sky And abnormal images are put among black clouds On the mountain gate. In the magic?s throne He looks the abism
So endless as a labirint of torments Dawn dominium of rebellion angels. Infernal creatures, That speel fire and hold lakes and forests Wing slaves in this world of impure nature Where a cash of demoniuns stand for the battle A terrible vision something no dreamed By the less human race.