Raise your breath, crypts of Medina.    Towards the realm of ritual  Leaded by the grief  The faith in spiritualism  Possesses your belief.    The master won't remit your sins  The judgement has arrived  The atmosphere will bear the fate  The seven mists will rise.    Consecrate the gates to the magicians' hall  Raise the silence, lead the barons to their seat;  Fallacious thoughts die away,  Pernicious doubt begets decay  When the omen prays to heaven for relief.    Hear the prophet's call:  "Woe to the valley of the seventh mystique."    (The curse of Medina:)  A new sin will be born  Upon a life's relic  Redeemers will be torn  For the reign of this mystique.  The guardians to the spell  Protect the ritual  The barons of the dark  Confess.    Let the rubin touch the spirit,  Take the fragment to the king.  Awake the valley of the witches  The curse will form the seventh sin.