Within the darkest hour When the dragon releases it's power They feel the urge to meet To share and to intertwine Beneath the leader of the horde Men and demons are sworn To kill and grant his grace They are reflections of the master's face The night is young and fresh Witch a scent of macabre on it's breath Scattered they form a pattern To be seen from the sky If crimson was your colour Could your conscience bear your soul Would you paint the space witch murder Your spirit's breath so cool They are cowards falling from their own grace Infiltrating penetrating witch hate Rounding up marching into the womb Catatonic spending time in sin