H.E.R.R.

Chorus of Angels: *Strophe* Who is it on His Throne, high-seated, So deep in boundless realms of light, Whose measure, space nor time hath meted, Nor e'en eternity; whose might, Supportless, yet itself maintaineth, Floating on pinions of repose; Who,

The Fall Of Constantinople 君士坦丁堡的沦陷 The city is lost now , there's no time for sleeping 城池已经失守,再无余时睡眠 We're dying; we're falling; our women are weeping 我们垂死,我们陷落,我们的女人在哭泣 The souls of our children, like bricks and like mortar 孩子们的灵魂,像砖瓦般被践踏 So helple

Lucifer: It is not meet for Dominations grave, Powers well-disposed in state, thus to give up So loosely their established rights; and since The supreme Power is by His laws most bound, To change becomes Him least. Let all yield Who will, not one foo

Thy souls in flames of anger, and cruelty cradle thee In times of war and dragons lore, unleashing unto me Deepest red born winter, for none so dark as thou With kaos as it's figurines, and monuments of stone Invoke to thee, dark majesty silence told

Gaul was brought to shame by Ceasar By King Necomedes, He. Here Comes Ceasar, Wreathed in Triumph For his Galic Victory. Nicomedes wears no Laurels, Though the Greatest of the Three! Home we Bring our bald whoremonger Romans, lock your wives away! Al