Lyrics:

Under old pine trees - men dressed in wolf skin
We the summoned are here to enthrone their mires and rocks

My creed turned to wrath,
my breath to break the morning calm,
my rage to tear their souls apart,
and my sword to make them serve man-blood

I swore a foreign oath, for what?
Words that will be compromised,
greed sheathed in hallowed illusion.
Creeds proclaimed in apostate ways.

Their blood will enrich the blooming
of the cold flowers in summers breeze,
Worship thy domain; you are not less than them,
veiled with pitch-black stratagem.
Now, a desolate and silent domain serenely lies in wait,
Sown are the seeds of growth,
solemn thoughts, yet profound.

You are not alive, you do not exist,
You are a withered garden -
Spiritless and soul-less, a dead man walking.

White flowers turn blue -
covered in dry blood, blooming under a crescent moon
His arrival has been marked.
A war into the wolves lairs is set to start