I feel the frozen wind stroking on my face,
The smell of burning wood all along the way,
The wolves are howling, ready to attack,
The time has come, no one will survive.
I try to run, I can not see the way,
I gasp for breath, I hear the pack is near,
The snow is thick, my limbs start to collapse,
But suddenly I see a wooden hut.
I shut the door as soon as I get in,
I hear the wolves grunting with the wind,
Inside the hut I find a pair of knives,
If they must come I'll use them to survive.
I scream for help as nobody's near to hear,
In my last stand my heart is filled with fear,
I grab the knives, the wolves are breaking in,
The fight begins, it will be them or me.
As they break in I stab one in the eye,
While another grabs me by the arm,
Too many of them, maybe five or six,
There's no escape, the end is getting near.
In a glimpse I saw the leader standing out,
While the others tore my body apart,
Then they stepped aside to let the leader in,
He stood on my chest and gazed into my eyes,
One last breath before he pierced me with his claws,
Without fear I slowly close my eyes.
The second (03:01) I heard that angry bellow gurgling upwards as from the depths of hell, conquering the composition, rising in intensity, and climaxing more than half a minute later (a geyser of blood spouting up from Tartaros, breaching subterranean roofs and spewing forth onto the face of the earth), I was engrossed hook, line and sinker. Drawn into the underworldly dark. Vocal performances like these never fail to conjure a grin on my face. The Disillusioned One