Behind the Mountains

Nothing will be as before

We can now see it

With fascination and horror

The city of the ancient spirit

An infamous architecture

A Cyclopean monument

A non-Euclidean structure

Looks to us like an unspeakable giant

We are cursed

We are cursed

Study each sculpture on these cold walls

We understand your past existence

Your prosperity between these icefalls

Your greatness and quintessence

You created slaves, the shoggoths, powerful and abject

But slaves wanted to become masters, and of your fall they were the architect

Shapeless beings, screaming like birds of Poe

Now only masters of the snow

Resistant to the freezing cold of Antarctica

They haunt the dark Babylonia

L’horreur liée à nos découvertes ne nous arrêta pas dans notre quête de savoir

Pourtant nous avions compris que ces connaissances pouvaient amener l’Homme à sa perte, à sa chute

Nous avançons encore et encore au sein de cette innommable cité cyclopéenne

Les choses très anciennes avaient succombées au froid du désert blanc, mais pas leur création

Abomination informe mais polymorphe, nous entendons son cri aigu et détestable se rapprocher

Comme un avertissement, présageant notre rencontre imminente et inévitable

The creature is in front of me, oozing and spongy

Countless eyes searching in the dark filthy ancestral horror

Dragging his vile body, like in a slow agony, it comes to us

Leaving behind its sticky mark of our souls the infamous killer

Traversant ce dédale de couloirs impies

Nous fuyons cette ineffable vision

Nous arrivons enfin à échapper à la détestable créature

Nos corps saufs, mais nos âmes meurtries

From our plane, we can see one last time the cursed city

Danforth’s crazy howls surround me, one last vision forever taking his sanity

Today I ask the world not to come back to this place of melancholia

For our salvation, no expedition should return to Antarctica

Never!