Wytchdance

The wytches, wytches black they are

They feast, they feast upon man's heart

Their lorde has summoned them by spell

To gather, in his realm to dwell

Creatures of death, creatures of night

Conjure the endless evil force

Who knoweth no mercy nor'll give in

To those who seek to ban its source

The wytches dance in limping line

The blood of holy is their wyne

The bones of infants are their throne

They have no fear, they won't atone

Satanickrite shall find no end

To end all life, from hell they're sent

His great return, the only goal

For this, they shall reap every soul

So go! and meet the master's ram

Girl, come to join these women

Become his servant whilst thou canst

Drink blood, conceive his semen

Cauldrens are boiling, mysteries red

Of venom and spyces to wayke up the dead

Gathering hellwhores,

and then comes their lorde

Their dark minds shall follow,

Their flesh is to rot

Will rot in a dreame of his splendour and grace

Remember the sabbath, another one waith

Embrace lustful wrayths exstasy wet and hot

By nighte-fall they swarm out to head for the spot

Where altars of stone, blood-stained, wayte under trees

A place long forgotten,

So others can't see

Far out in the woods servants vyle

Have their shrine

To mate with their master

In nockturnal rite

An orgy of riches and infinite lust

Lorde Satan is generous

Yet obey him they must

Doe all what he sayeth, most of all,

Bring him lives, their duty they

Followe by grim sacrifices

New souls must be draught,

Full of innocence and youth,

Into their communion,

Tonight it'll be thou

Initiation to unspeakable cults

So do what they wish, fuck the priest

From the vault and next, take the

Daggers and open thine veins

Some sharp lethall cuts,

Watch a scene so insane

The ground seems to open,

Thy body is torne

The knife-blade was poisoned

and thou art reborn

Cause out of the deep lift

The spirits of olde

and drink from thine pale wrist

and see what thou sold

The contract is signed,

Now thou art one of the wytches

A vicious black core

In a shell dead and colde

Inside the red circle,

A sister of lore

A knower of wonders

Unthinkable before

Thou slaughterst a childe

For it's the demonlorde's will

Thy pleasure is sin

and thy mission -- to kill