Текст песни Obire Pestis

This morbid night melancholy

Moon of funeral broods

Mist rising from the swamps

Where superstitions are alive

Frogs and crickets please me

Though not long will my ears hear

Not long will I howl at the moon

The end already creeps on my tongue

Between old suffering trees

I still see that which reminded me
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Of a time sorrow had reigned

With hope crushed underneath

A regent to the throne of black memory

Lost, forgotten and waiting for Hell

Asking why I left at all

Where are my weapons and dreams

There is no death to save me

I have never lived

Obire Pestis

Morbid night melancholy