I had torture myself with great torments of elder times
but bitterness and fatality didn't come alone... The
elements of utter horror beyond all the past horros,
behind fathomless echoes of forlon prosperity. Let the
ravens be cursed like my traitor fate has ever been,
summon the dismal blessing of memories. These desolate
lunar-like hills, my only one rest and peace, summon the
dismal blessing of memories, decrepit ruins of a dream
lost and forgotten, agony from centuries, past and
future, coldness runs in every tear of sorrow. The last
tower, hall of vengeance, catacombs of pain, my funeral
request... Once again lying dormant into this pyramid of
pain, the refuge for this soul possessed by grief. Fading
into the shades of this necropolis, I'm the last son of
the spectral Mictlan.