In the Dark Age of the 11th Century,
the human civilisation is nearly erased,
an unseen entity rose from the depths of hell
to spread disease and death
among god's creation...

Midnight fog creeps through the valleys,
sulphur stench fills the stale, dank air,
molten with the stench of cremated cadavers.
An era of diseases struck the weak lambs.

The bell tolls, counting the deaths in this night.
A wooden cart drives through the pathways,
piled with stinking putrid humans.
A priest whimmers in front of the funeral pyres
his weeping prayers into the nightsky,
yet the faceless death rides through the air...

He is the bringer of plagues, from the depths of hell he came,
faceless wind born in Satans splendour, the grandeur of pestilence.
He is the reaper of humans to rot the creatures alive.
A rider of the apocalypse, the grandeur of pestilence.

Wolves' howling sounds from afar,
vultures circle above the valley.
The stench of decay reaches the realm of god.
The scythe of death is wielded,
harvesting the dead for the cauldrons in hell,
Satan awaits them to torment their souls.

"Empty and silent lie the villages,
now home for millions of flies.
O spirit of Satan...
Spread thy darkness over this world!"

Satan... O thou lord of sin and destruction,
may the fog carry death among the living.
May their lungs be filled with vermin.
May they embrace their god in the hour of ultimate torment.

Empy and silent lie the villages,
some cripples pick up the defaced cadavers,
to bury them in their blessed earth,
not knowing that these grounds already were desecrated.

Twelve disciples once came and told the words of god,
his love and grace now drowns in pestilental death.
The winds of plague sweep forth through darkness,
to leave the ground withered and diseased...