Absent are the skies that tend the winds.
It [bad word] the enraged lands.
Surpassed beyond the life bonds
Spitting forth its blizzard of wars

One's belief and effort 
Shall survive this search the oldest form of wisdom 
That has been inscribed
By the codex of life itself.

One's bloom will succeed 
By the whirlpool of the earth.

One's bloom will succeed 
By the whirlpool of the earth.

Unique is the way 
That balances our key
To negate the unliving.
Extraction exclaims the wrath 
Of the valley!

The geyser holes expulse their breaths.
Cold emptyness of the enchanted source
That turns the ashes, 
Reducing it to dirt.

As the Underworld winds 
Teleport the plague
Upon the gargoyles supposed creation.

Withered auras are stolen 
From their centered bodies.
An interiorisation blackened gate is born.

The arcs fade from their pounding sphere.
Feelings vanished out of their world,
As hate was created onto their land.

Screamed by mouths of the earth.
Hurls of bowling are cast from the hollows
That break the sounds in their thoughts
To lose control in themselves.
Unbound lividity

Demonized gargoyles art what thou art
To be forever souless, burning.
Then thou are now weak in nature.
From the rising dawn, 
You'll be converted horrors
Of the well known bottoms.

One's blossom revived the whirlwinded vortex.
Resurrect from the dryness of the underdepths.
But few found this reality
By simply reading one's knowledge 
In the heart's valley.

The creators understood the meaning above their way,
Leaving behind the winged carrions
To be forever diminished, burning.
Now forgotten as... 

Now forgotten as the Ancient Ones
One's Ancient Thee 
As forgotten, now..

Burning.
Now forgotten as... 
Now forgotten as... 
Now forgotten as...
Now forgotten as the Ancient Ones...