Souls of infidel men   Is a fertile soul   Like dusky forest grow   On fallen leaves   We draw the essence of mortal weakness   Holyness - The worst gift of light   Is long dead and gone   Buried by our sisters ages ago   Whilst the sun rapes the day   Grow borns below   Armoured and strengthened   Are the sons of the moon   And not blood keeps us alive   Souls of infidel men   Flow through our veins   One last silent scream   One last breath   The moment we appear from the shadows   To inhale another soul   Of an infidel man..