A blaze in the southern sky, coals on the fields
Dancing in Flames, we arise
Silently, Majesticly the shadow of the sky
Falls over the Balcan

The smell of the Lunar Boreal Aurora
Pitch Black Night yawns
The tribes of the wide Pirin mountainside
Call out a Pagan Gospel - yeah
A blaze in the southern Sky, over Pirin and Rila
Pitch Black Gospel sounds - yeah

Hail to the Swans, Hail to the crows, From the Slavonic Lands we have come
Our Scythe Strikes Hard against the Face of Christ
Mournfully Clouds whisper and gather on the azure celestial dome
Filled with melancholy, with darkness, with desire and the sweet taste of Bitterness

Haunt the Christ with cruel dogs - Hang him up on high old trees
Calm before the heathen storm - our wrath comes upon you
Battlescreams in Thracia - the southern hordes fill the land
The Black Sea boils - Remember of Byzanth
Tragedies from beyond - Slava, no hope for you
Vitoshas silhoutte - in the Dusk
Among the ruins of the past - travelling in Thracia
Where the Gods were born - now the Gods are dead

The smell of the Lunar Boreal Aurora
Pitch Black Night yawns
The tribes of the wide Pirin mountainside
Call out a Pagan Gospel - yeah