Print

I feel in the air my morbid thoughts of desecration. When all turns black as the night, I look the moon... as a lonely wolf. In supremacy. Runes cross my doubts, and fears bring me the forgotten memories of castles. Lost in the holes of time... so far... and dark. And I raise, invencible and ancient, with the knowledge of centuries of honor and dust. Immersed in the tragedy of ancestors. With strenght, with pride, with the eyes injected in fanthomless hatred... of a dying abyss From Letras Mania