Behold the vast dismal hall beneath the black   moutain and the great ebony throne in the   middle of it. See the ancient god sitting upon   this throne and holding in his hand a golden   chalice full of human suffering and fear. Once   god of joy he became god of pain... By the will   of Young Gods. The sword on the altar before   the throne... The sword of blue magical steel...   The Great Sword of Power... My disciple, it   must be yours! Tortured victims fill all the hall   before the throne Losing the rest of mind and   soul with the parting groan Eyes gushing blood,   mouth torn with a scream and no one hears   Before this face, bloodlustful and grim, life   disappears Winged creatures under the ceiling -   down they stare Harvest pain, fear and   suffering bouncing there Mixed with gore it   makes the drink for the ancient god Raising   powers of Mountain King - dreadful lord Hagen,   disciple of Darkness... Step forth and take what   now is yours... The sword... And I will help you   with my force I gather the power for flaming   spell Around myself turning the world Gaining   true fire from the heart of Muspell Floods of the   time I distort Fire shines into their eyes, hear   their cries Dusk dies, uncovers disguise, see   their demise Trampling down mountain guards   you break to the throne Crushing their swords,   slashing apart with the strength grown Fire   shines, blind are their eyes, your powers rise   Dusk dies, uncovers disguise, now take your   prize Before the throne you grab the sword -   finally yours You pierce the chest of mountain   lord with no remorse With their lord   disincarnated the servants of the mountain   disappear And the souls of the tortured finally   obtain their long waited freedom Rejoicing in   their afterlife Banished is the god - the body's   dead and spirit roams But no return for blood   that's shed and for painful groans Victims death   turned into power that never dies Now it's   waiting for its hour to arise