The wind cast a ruin upon my soul
The night is dying, yet we cursed the dawn, each mourning, upon a festering grave
The moonlight has no shine through the doom
The burning corpse of god shall keep us warm in the doom of howling winds
For we are a race from beyond the wanderers of night
The night is dying, yet we cursed the dawn, each mourning, upon a festering grave
The moonlight has no shine through the doom
The burning corpse of god shall keep us warm in the doom of howling winds
For we are a race from beyond the wanderers of night
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