Coming through the night 

I am carried by the wind 

Mansion in my sight 

I am redeemer of the sinned 



He met me by the door 

Praying for the dead 

Remembering the war 

How I always walked ahead 



Son, cry for Jerusalem 

Where the order raised their Steel 

To fight the hordes of men 

And to claim back every hill 



I walk the night alone 

Unholy friend of fear 

My flute is made of bone 

The sound is cold and clear 



A whisper in the dark 

My hand will never fail 

You will know my mark 

Silence will prevail 



Son, cry for Jerusalem 

Where the order raised their steel 

To fight the hordes of men 

And to claim back every hill 



King of the Dead 

King of the Dead 

King of the Dead 

King of the Dead