Summon thy hidden wisdom, gather the unholy hate
Winter is at hand, frozen my tears will be
Created by blasphemy
The edge of my sword, the powers of my mind
Winter is at hand, as two torches blaze in the dark
A warrior dressed in black, granted eternal life
Black winds blow my hair, as the voice of the night
Whispers my name
Blackened ground, mistly sound
Hear the call for war, the master calling his
Warriors to explore by the sign of the horns
As the dawn arisses the souls of a thousand
Young men shall go wild
As the fire sounds into the night the're sitting by
The campires awaiting the dawn