A secret expedition had come from before

A dearly expedition was brought to us all

Amidst of the winter the snow was belayed

Arriving the ruins you could near their prayers.


Their dead talked,

Their dead danced,

For their masters.


As if their souls burned from the grip of death


Their dead since

Their dead killed

For their owners.


As if they were crying to be released

From their afterlife cells.


At the necropolis - Always at the service of majesty

At the necropolis - Keeping the door open for the ones

To come


In this secret journey no one was told

That all that had seen this would in the course.


Their dead robbed

Their dead fought

For their slayers.


Vanishing enemies without any chance of a stand.


Their dead cried

Their dead died

Once again


Just to be release from their energy cells we call

Soul.


At the necropolis - Always at the service of majesty

At the necropolis - Keeping the door open for the ones

To come