Through the winding forest where the bodies of   Disillusioned peasants lay in the catacombs,   Gothic oakwood may once again take its real form   And grasp for Your soul,   As the night falls,   Green turns to the colour which brings forth the eternal rest,   Reach forth and separate the mystical branch   As the moon is surpassed by a blanket of unholy cloud   And echoed shrieks,   Ambience of the dark evolves from beyond the divine nightshade,   Faraway from the forest,   The souls of the dead travel beneath the earths soil to arrive   At the tree of life and death,   Now a disoriented monk banished from the order finds solace   Within the cold surroundings of the untouched ground,   The secrets are revealed to him,   It is who commands the living,   The dead - The dead.