For all glory  For all time For all the blood shed  For as long as the sun shall shine Oh majestic eagle in the northern sky Who hears the resounding Garmr's cry The throne hath prophesied Today is a perfect day to die  Oh The call of warriors in grandiose choir Whose sword and axes were forged in unholy fire Echoing in the distance, the Gjallorhorn  Trumpeting from Heimdallr to the tune of the hooves of Gulltoppr Drag the bastards through the burning fields  Their bodies covered by their blood soaked shields Above the forest, is The one eyed wise old man above The one, who from branch of Yggdrasil, hung  Where Ravens call  And the crescendoing winds sing our names  A funeral pyre burns, behold the majestic flame Today belongs to Thor  Who swings his hammer Mjolnar  Hear my call All father Odin In fields of battle Lies our sacrifice  Open wide the golden gates  Described, as by skalds, Valhalla Incessant pounding of a distant knell Now summons the riding Valkyries  Hear our call All seeing father  I raise the beheaded's skull to you Like a trophy of victory  Seas of Crimson  Accentuated by sorrow  Towards the mournful dirge of winds And azure lakes ebbing and flowing  North are the stars that shine between our eyes  Chariots of wolves from the forest Follow the 8 legged stallion Through the 9 worlds of yore Hearing the call of the ever singing Gjallorhorn  Tonight we drink the blood of the slain Cheering to their dying cries of pain  As their lifeless bodies are soaked with rain From the heavens of infinite sempiternal plain A lonesome crow  Between the trees near lonely Hvelgelmir Calls  Like my father before me  And his before him  I shall raise my sword with triumph  To the gods watching  Cold waters cleanse the slain's blood  Covering now eternal scars Time ceased long ago  Time like waters froze  And the war became immortal Sword of Iron in right hand Shield of Iron in the left hand  The Ravens ever flocking  Messengers by Odin's command  Hear our cries of strife All powerful Tyr  Immortal one handed martyr Losing hand in sacrifice against Fenrir Tyr, oh mighty Tyr, god of war Yearning we are for your blessings  Roaring as the storm  Hail we the gods above  All majestic as the landscape I lust for the sight of the slain  Lying, dying, across the plains  Torrential rain mixes with blood Heimdallr still riding in sky above O, we celebrate with mead and meat  Roaring is the choir of fire in our dreams Night and day become one  Coexistent  Coterminous  One hundred men fallen slain Yet many more still remain And one hundred more shall be slain As this fine day of war lingers untamed Hel, goddess and geography Awaits the befallen, our trophies of glory No winds shall sing for them an elegy Nor night birds deliver them a eulogy Eurynomos rises from the grave of the Earth   Damnation awaits those who, in throes of battle, now curse their birth   Eclipsed is the daylight  Yet so is the night  The stars remain in the sky Even though the clouds eclipse their sight The North Star beholds the moon  The Western Star beholds the sun  No end of the twilight foreseen Yet we still lust for Valhalla's auric gleam No longer is there commiseration  Only the everlasting sword of desecration Total devastation  Eventual Annihilation A fine day for war. 

Whore of Armageddon Witch who satisfies me Welcome yourself to Gehenna Where we begin our journey The fires may burn hot But never as much as our lust Reach for the flame And see it extinguish Walk with me With our passion so sanguine Bloodied like Elizabeth Bathory The color cinnabar runs deep Perdition won't be so lonely With you beside me Our fire shall keep us warm When the flames of hell burn cold

Will the summer Will the autumn  Will the spring  To me, Come?  No,  The summer, The fall, And The spring's, song  Silenced by my Winter's call. My winter's immortality  Such frosted brutality To insanity I fly and my soul flees I saw Leviathan as a snake Drinking it's mothers breastmilk  In the frost Of my eternal Winter.

Thee of the Unborn Praise be unto the undead For they feel no pain They suffered enough in sorrow Their organs, no trace remains Thee of the unborn I envy you For I am still searching For my wine glass I left And beside a tree by my window and wonder Is a dead boy waiting for his mother. An occult glare Reveals the disillusion Like a still life, or rather, a still death.