Towards the realm of ritual Leaded by the grief The faith in spiritualism Possesses your belief.
The master won't remit your sins The judgement has arrived The atmosphere will bear the fate The seven mists will rise.
Consecrate the gates to the magicians' hall Raise the silence, lead the barons to their seat; Fallacious thoughts die away, Pernicious doubt begets decay When the omen prays to heaven for relief.
Hear the prophet's call: Woe to the valley of the seventh mystique.
(The curse of Medina:) A new sin will be born Upon a life's relic Redeemers will be torn For the reign of this mystique. The guardians to the spell Protect the ritual The barons of the dark Confess.
Let the rubin touch the spirit, Take the fragment to the king. Awake the valley of the witches The curse will form the seventh sin.
