Within the darkest hour
When the dragon releases it's power
They feel the urge to meet

To share and to intertwine

Beneath the leader of the horde

Men and demons are sworn
To kill and grant his grace
They are reflections of the master's face


The night is young and fresh
Witch a scent of macabre on it's breath

Scattered they form a pattern
To be seen from the sky


If crimson was your colour
Could your conscience bear your soul
Would you paint the space witch murder

Your spirit's breath so cool

They are cowards falling from their own grace

Infiltrating penetrating witch hate
Rounding up marching into the womb
Catatonic spending time in sin