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 fucking all,
As ocheron takes all of your souls.