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| Bathory Under The Sign Of The Black Mark Massacre Down the vast hills in morning mist cold Into the peaceful deep valley below Twothousand stallions foaming with hate Carrying their masters towards their fate Into the battle they ride Twothousand men too young to die Massacre...... Coming from each side prepared for attack Covered in dustclouds now there is no turning back Once so peaceful valley echoes with cries Cascades of blood and brains as the midday sun rise Under a bloodred sky None will live to face the night Massacre...... Amidst the scattered limbs dead bodies finally comes to peace While the stench of blood grows strong in the mild midday breeze Circling the sky the vultures wait to play their part To descend of wings of death and feast from human hearts The battle is lost still someone always wins And now they descend on death's black wings Massacre...... [Massacre......] |
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