Grim cold caverns, standing at the edge of the earth.   Wretched little spawn, sitting at the helm of all he surveys.      Bones of the dead and obscure trivial things,   From the depths of hell, and of magical origin.   Amassed with intent for invoking of the demons.      Advent darkness ascertains commencement   Of pagan rituals, to summon forth   The legions of demons who shall rise from the dead   And come to the bidding of the wretched little one      Thundering skies   Panoptic gray clouds of doom   From which the lightning strikes      The encompassing vile wind   Ravaging the cold barren land   From bloodied heavens, hell descends      A raging fury in the form of pure evil   And blood that falls in form of rain   Marks the coming of invoked demons