Triumph of the Blasphemer - Nocturnal Breed

He storms the night

His prey in sight

The conqueror

The frantic necromancer

Rancorous words from his poisoned lips

Rip your flesh like a devil’s whip

The impure touch of his finger tips

Flares the mortal wound in your wrist

Razor nails burrows through your face

Feel the wrath of hell penetrate

With the strength of a thousand wars

He crush the holy «Die by his sword»

When the burgundy sun goes down

All heaven slayed and fallen to the ground

With evil splendor he triumphs the sky

With claws of metal he’ll make you die

Triumph of the blasphemer

Triumph of the blasphemer