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April 14th and the sabbath is near. |
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The ground is trembling, |
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weakened by the longest winter. |
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These are the last steps |
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of the frost giants as they leave. |
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An April moon is rising as the trees turn to rust. |
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Killing season comes in shades of gray. |
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An April moon is rising as the spring turns to dust. |
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We lie down to a howling sound |
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as the world is slowly coming down. |
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Bless me, ghosts of winter, |
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for you have made me stronger, |
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to face this day and ever nights, |
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further north our paths will go. |
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South is burning, east is vast, |
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west is dying fast. |
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But as I leave, |
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my heart holds no fear; |
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I know there's nothing from here. |
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An April moon is rising as the trees turn to rust. |
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Killing season comes in shades of gray. |
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An April moon is rising as the spring turns to dust. |
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We lie down to a howling sound... |
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On the altar of endless snow, |
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on a deep glacier's glow, |
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we prepare our graves. |
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Here under the north star I will sleep away, |
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to the deep hum of your icy womb. |
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April 14th, and death is here, |
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the tide has finally turned. |
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The ground is trembling, |
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weakened by the longest winter. |
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These are the last steps |
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of the frost giants as they leave. |
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But my heart holds no fear; |
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for I know there's nothing from here... |
