The fog had risen, the Moon shone through.
A breathtaking scene lay before me.
The Pit of Limbs, gnawed by the rats.
Very little movement.
The wind blew, with torrents from Hell.
Let the Hounds free, and into the forests,
Feeding on the dirty peasants.
The young pale virgin lay on the Altar.
Long blades were brandished.
I forced the cleaver through her knee,
Crunching, cracking through to the Altar.
Her breasts shredded by blades so fine.
Her neck sliced clean in two.
Her head bludgeoned by a heavy
Metal object.
Her legs charred by the deathly flames.
Master, her corpse is prepared for
The Banquet.
The merry little fiddler, the pounding drummer,
The chirpy singer and the graceful mandolin player
Began playing the music.
The feast begun, the occasion was set.
We dined, we ate, we drank tasty wine.
We laughed, we jested, we sang.
Then we quivered.
The Satanic Maniacs stood in the doorway.
Heads fell off in the carnage.
Guts splatter.
Demons entered twisting bodies apart.
Treachery they called it.
This lyric was posted anonymously. Not yet confirmed by Book of Metal.
