Out from the north into the south   Winter turned his frozen mouth   Tearing down the voices of living   Leaving bodies buried in ice      The wrath of distant clouds   And the weeping othe ground, it will come   Cold wind carries the voice of doom   Singing songs for the damned      Descending winters for all lands   All hope is gone in his hands   Out from the north into the south   Winter turned his frozen mouth      Slaying the oceans and darkening the sun   With little breeze, it will come   Enormous tide of burning cold storms   He will cleanse the land with single breath      No shelter can save us now   As the winds come roaring   There is no place to hide   The final season is close at hand   Taste the air so silent, it will come...