Evil, heated in the infernal fire
desecration, splashed into blood tank
it glitters, sharpened by the demonic file
baptized, by stormy winds of satan
evoked, between hellhammer and anvil
torches, witches come to hell's mill
to mow down the morbid needs
bring the big one to the defender
black metal scythe...
sucking the fantastic fertilizer
growing up in the fields of hates
bewitched, the rite of harvest
victims, falling deeper than darkness
A strong comment here is specific: the phrase you keep hearing, the mood you come back for, or the reason this song stays in rotation.
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