The wytches, wytches black they are They feast, they feast upon man's heart Their lorde has summoned them by spell To gather, in his realm to dwell
Creatures of death, creatures of night Conjure the endless evil force Who knoweth no mercy nor'll give in To those who seek to ban it's source
The wytches dance in limping line The blood of holy is their wyne The bones of infants are their throne They have no fear, they won't atone
Satanickrite shall find no end To end all life, from hell they're sent His great return, the only goal For this, they shall reap every soul
So go! and meet the master's ram Girl, come to join these women Become his servant whilst thou canst Drink blood, conceive his semen
Cauldrens are boiling, mysteries red Of venom and spyces to wayke up the dead Gathering hellwhores, And then comes their lorde
Their dark minds shall follow, Their flesh is to rot Will rot in a dreame of his splendour and grace Remember the sabbath, another one waith
Embrace lustful wrayths exstasy wet and hot By nighte-fall they swarm out to head for the spot Where altars of stone, blood-stained, wayte under trees A place long forgotten, So others can't see
Far out in the woods servants vyle Have their shrine To mate with their master In nockturnal rite
An orgy of riches and infinite lust Lorde Satan is generous Yet obey him they must
Doe all what he sayeth, most of all, Bring him lives, their duty they Followe by grim sacrifices
New souls must be draught, Full of innocence and youth, Into their communion, Tonight it'll be thou Initiation to unspeakable cults
So do what they wish, fuck the priest From the vault and next, take the Daggers and open thine veins Some sharp lethall cuts, Watch a scene so insane
The ground seems to open, Thy body is torne The knife-blade was poisoned And thou art reborn
Cause out of the deep lift The spirits of olde And drink from thine pale wrist And see what thou sold
The contract is signed, Now thou art one of the wytches A vicious black core In a shell dead and colde
Inside the red circle, A sister of lore A knower of wonders Unthinkable before Thou slaughterst a childe For it's the demonlorde's will Thy pleasure is sin And thy mission -- to kill
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Copy to Clipboard: The wytches, wytches black they are They feast, they feast upon man's heart Their lorde has summoned them by spell To gather, in his realm to dwell
Creatures of death, creatures of night Conjure the endless evil force Who knoweth no mercy nor'll give in To those who seek to ban it's source
The wytches dance in limping line The blood of holy is their wyne The bones of infants are their throne They have no fear, they won't atone
Satanickrite shall find no end To end all life, from hell they're sent His great return, the only goal For this, they shall reap every soul
So go! and meet the master's ram Girl, come to join these women Become his servant whilst thou canst Drink blood, conceive his semen
Cauldrens are boiling, mysteries red Of venom and spyces to wayke up the dead Gathering hellwhores, And then comes their lorde
Their dark minds shall follow, Their flesh is to rot Will rot in a dreame of his splendour and grace Remember the sabbath, another one waith
Embrace lustful wrayths exstasy wet and hot By nighte-fall they swarm out to head for the spot Where altars of stone, blood-stained, wayte under trees A place long forgotten, So others can't see
Far out in the woods servants vyle Have their shrine To mate with their master In nockturnal rite
An orgy of riches and infinite lust Lorde Satan is generous Yet obey him they must
Doe all what he sayeth, most of all, Bring him lives, their duty they Followe by grim sacrifices
New souls must be draught, Full of innocence and youth, Into their communion, Tonight it'll be thou Initiation to unspeakable cults
So do what they wish, fuck the priest From the vault and next, take the Daggers and open thine veins Some sharp lethall cuts, Watch a scene so insane
The ground seems to open, Thy body is torne The knife-blade was poisoned And thou art reborn
Cause out of the deep lift The spirits of olde And drink from thine pale wrist And see what thou sold
The contract is signed, Now thou art one of the wytches A vicious black core In a shell dead and colde
Inside the red circle, A sister of lore A knower of wonders Unthinkable before Thou slaughterst a childe For it's the demonlorde's will Thy pleasure is sin And thy mission -- to kill
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