[Instrumental]

The immeasurable descent into the metamorphic madness guides my flesh
towards the cursed salvation of the damned enclave of Itzghortr, lord of Hex.

I do not feel my spirit anymore.
The incomprehensible waves of the hidden void whisper my name,
while a black entity takes my soul forever during the red transition.

In the filthy hole of the world,
Shaôg awaits behind the thin layers of the invisible.

He vomits his venom on this land of doom and satisfies his abominable hunger,
disappointed for he has not yet found the holy elect of the void.
He eradicates and massacres the human parasites
without distinction for his unspeakable pleasures.

The sovereign of blindness absorbs energy from the receptacle of the red transition.
His 363 closed eyes probe the ether of the divinatory wall,
skirting the infinite expanse of the universes until his frightful seed
will spawn from his eternal, paradoxical and futile existence.

He sees everything,
He observes everything,
driven by the incomparable obsession for that immaculate creature,
soon to be born from his nightbreed's fire blood.
He will walk for him.

The wind of blackness caresses my body,
extended in the fiery darkness of a different sphere.
And the call of the deceased escapes this inexorable age and the plague of time...

In the shadows of a lost corridor,
my mind is entangled in the flesh.

It perpetually tries to escape,
but a thick darkness blocks the way out and ruins all hope.
Its name is Shtalosoth, the holder of the 13th key.

Once he gathers the artifacts,
the door will be opened.

From the telluric crater of the accursed,
a nation of servants will come down to the arid plains
to celebrate the cosmic power of the ancient Dhôrgthâl race.

By the denial of our putrid souls,
the majestic gates of madness will open to offer a lethargic sacrifice,
paving the way for the arrival of the great master Kôg-Narthrât from the other dimension.
He will hurl the soul of his elected servants into another plane of existence,
a world made of terrifying proportions and devoid of life.

In a world in ruins he will reign.
Through the formula of Nocturle Ars Fh'a.

My life damned for eternity begins, and my grave is dug.
The time has come to swear allegiance to the destructive power of Dhôrgthâl.
1000 years of torture awaits me, in the abominable sight of a mad and measureless being...
Dead forever and alive forever.

Blood-soaked and incomprehensible,
the Black Throne stands before the sacrificial monolith.

The nameless worshiper eradicates his soul while the Red Oracle
executes his monstrous melody in front of the effigy of the forbidden.
Now and for all the times to come, the receptacle of vision opens its doors.

The Horned Lord will inexorably emerge out of the flames,
in a vast expanse made of mountainous peaks under scorching skies,
populated with vicious beings eager for domination.

Buried by the dark embrace of the universe,
disowned by the light, he enslaves the arid offspring of the Serpent.
He wanders eternally, like a black planet aimlessly rolling.
When the heavens turn to nothing but mist and the earth gets covered with blood, he will rise.

Contaminated with the impurity of the 9th seal,
his messianic reign will come to eradicate the impious nation.

He will wear the crown of the deceased and the annihilated.
In the deepest abyss his lair will sit,
amassing the seed of his conquest of blackened souls.

Condemned to a millennium of darkness,
his name will remain as a sick and cursed monition for all.