I
As mountainsides, covered by black firs

recieve the light of a bleak sun
a path scowls down
to the valley


black rocks, all along the way
raised like spears to the skies

winds seem to sound
like (an) endless cry


II
Ravens, circling in slow flight
they cry and mourn for more frozen flesh


Black firs, silently moving
grim beholders of this ô so doomed place


Frost, snow and streaming blood,
rivers of red will flow for centuries


Darkened becomes the land, the sunsets behind the hills,
Oh I really want to leave this place.


Chorus


Mourning Valleys, are calling my soul
Mourning Valleys, are still haunting my mind
Mourning Valleys, will I escape this black land ?

Mourning Valleys, where the wind is named Death, ohhh ....



III
As mountainsides, covered by black firs
recieving the light of a bleak sun

a path scowls down
to the valley


black rocks, all along the way
raised like spears to the skies
winds seem to sound

like an endless cry

Then the forest ends, meadows beneath the trees

a vision of ancient victories
thousands of bodies
impaled here


Past glory, ancient rituals of death
a landscape which pours black blood

the smell of death, the streams and the trees
everything bleeds ...


IV
Ravens, circling in slow flight
they cry and mourn for more frozen flesh


Black firs, silently dancing under the wind
grim beholders of this ô so doomed place


Frost, snow and streaming blood,
rivers of red will flow for centuries


Darkened becomes the land, the sunsets behind the hills,
Oh I really want to leave this place.



Chorus