In millenniums of centuries. On wings they spawned the true, The witches of dathomir turned nightsisters of pure doom, Born from the world of darkness, where a claw of noir amythst glooms, Upon the crown of ocheron she'll cast a spell unto you, So gaze upon the soul you had no pity she grants to fools, She wants to feed on the blood you have Until it drains you to a diluted blue. The carnal lust of man lies dead, Semen and blood spawn in her womb As one thousand wolves gather around awaiting a kingdom to rule. Fierce is my storm, leads you in war, I'll honour you all and cover you in my blood, Fire I call burns you f**ing all, As ocheron takes all of your souls