Paroles de 'Ghost Of The Ancient Siberian Wolfcult' par Liar Of Golgotha

F'taghn collecting Itself from the ashes of men and
women, melting and sharing their heritage of the
past.
It rose from the grey mists that deluged the barren
planes of the cold lands, It chose as Its silent
homestead.
From pure alien origin It once had been, feared and
hunted profusely by a race now removed from Its close
vicinity, from this land's solemn existence, by a
gentle stroke of Its hand.
It was mastering the arts of this planet's
materialisation.
It alone was with many, who were but small parts of It
self.
F'taghn was the blessed name It carried, dating back
from beyond the vortex of dimensions, from the grounds
of the Elder lords.
On the top of the frozen hill It appeared in all Its
might, clouded by the particles It had risen from,
summoning the ghosts from Its gasseous body.
Accompanied by the chanting choirs of tormented
ancient souls, the misty shapes that dwelled the
ground, crystallised.
F'taghn, Beast of a thousand souls, ancient dweller of
the Siberian landscapes, feared by the lonely men
sleeping restlessly in Its domain.
Its four eyes watched the four horizons of the earth,
scanning for a prey to be fetched by the materialised
ghostly wolfclan.
It remembered how he once recited the forbidden
sentences, being bonded by the mortal human flesh, and
glanced upon the spiralled vortex in the dry desert
sands.
He knew then that his destiny lay on a different level
than that of his fellow human men and women.
And the moment the purple lightning struck his eyes
and burned his flesh he knew he was of the alien
F'taghn, reaper of souls, scout of the Ancient Ones.
It remembered how she once played with the
Dhogh-Nubilum Gem and fragmentated into the sand she
sat in, sailed on Sahara winds towards the open
spheres of the vortex of creation, disappearing into
the sentient thing called F'taghn Yog, dogmatist of
wolfclans, harvester of human souls in barren wastes.
She was renewed and beyond all grasp.
It remembered how It joined with the souls It lured
into Its ritual bonding.
The owners of human memories embedded in Its vapour
flesh.
And now they dwelled Siberia as wolves of light and
darkness, optic illusions just as deadly as bullets
from a gun, obeying Its mind.