The Gathering of Black Moths

Hell is here, where storms are drawing near.
We are black moths, separated from the core.
Chased away into the night, to the farthest shore,
where storms rip our wings apart.

We circle around the flame.
Holding on to the light of hell that glows for us.
In our name, of pain and betrayal.
This is our home, on the farthest shore,
where the bells toll fear.

We are the black moths circling around the flame.

The distant lighthouse in the raging storm.
The glow of the safe harbour we will never reach.
Like a compass without the North, we are lost.
Ever changing course from home, forever lost.

For our sins we are cursed to stay here.
For all the wings we left behind, burned and broken.
Now the ones to hold the blackest ones.

On our backs they keep us alive in this world of the dead,
but not to be remembered, only in all evil.

We are the black moths circling around the flame.

For a thousand years of suffering.
A price from the life we left behind.
Thrown into the loneliness of this last shore.
From the life all promises, into the abyss of souls parted.

We are the black moths, separated from the core.
Chased away into the night, to the farthest shore,
where storms rip our wings apart.

And the calm is only to remind us of our black hearts.
The one that beats no more, won't hurt anyone, evermore.
Now I am finally home where I belong.
Flying into the flame of hell every night,
just before the sunrise.

To burn to ashes,
just to form again for a new night of suffering.
To remain what I was, the evil, again and again...