" The Hounds Of Hell "

" The Hounds Of Hell "

Come with me nocturnal friends,
to a howling on the moor.
Share with me the shadows long
like no other night before.

The heath is rife with bloody prey
for the hunters need to feast.
The weak shall feed the famished
and satiate the wild beast.

A lonely croon beneath the moon
will mark the witching hour.
On All Saints night the demons dance
for those they will devour.

The night is young and we shall run.
Fear not the graveyard dead.
With fangs in deadly grimace bared,
quite soon we'll bathe in red.

We tasted death and felt its breath
in the slaughter of the lambs.
Upon the heath our howls are heard
and the screaming of the dams.

A bloody feast to say the least.
A celebration of the dead.
Now the lambs lament their fate
and our hunger must be fed.

When the horrid hunt is done
and silence cloaks the moors,
no man will ever look upon
the carnage and the horrors.

Now the hunters have to leave
the killing stops at dawn,
dare not, we leave a single sign
that blood was ever drawn.

The thirst for blood is always strong
we know it all too well,
but a howling comes just once a year
unto the Hounds of Hell.