A secret expedition had come from before  A dearly expedition was brought to us all  Amidst of the winter the snow was belayed  Arriving the ruins you could near their prayers.    Their dead talked,  Their dead danced,  For their masters.    As if their souls burned from the grip of death    Their dead since  Their dead killed  For their owners.    As if they were crying to be released  From their afterlife cells.    At the necropolis - Always at the service of majesty  At the necropolis - Keeping the door open for the ones  To come    In this secret journey no one was told  That all that had seen this would in the course.    Their dead robbed  Their dead fought  For their slayers.    Vanishing enemies without any chance of a stand.    Their dead cried  Their dead died  Once again    Just to be release from their energy cells we call  Soul.    At the necropolis - Always at the service of majesty  At the necropolis - Keeping the door open for the ones  To come