Tjsi morbid night melancholy   Moon of funerals broods   Mist rising from the swamps   Where superstitions are alive   Frogs and crickets please me   Though not long will my ears hear   Not long will I howl at the moon   The end already creeps on my tongue   Between old suffering trees   I still see that which reminding me   Of a time sorrow had reigned      With hope crushed underneath   A regent to the throne of black memory   Lost, forgotten and waiting for hell   Asking why I left at all   Where are my weapons and dreams      There is no death to save me   I have never lived   Obire Pestis   Morbid night melancholy