Darkthrone — Transilvanian Hunger

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Текст Darkthrone — Transilvanian Hunger

Transilvanian hunger, cold soul
Your hands are cruel, to haunt — to haunt
The mountains are cold, soul — soul
Careful pale forever at night

Take me, can’t you feel the call
Embrace me eternally in your daylight slumber
To be draped by the shadow of your morbid palace ohh…
Hate living, the only heat is warm blood

So pure, so cold…
Transilvanian hunger…

Hail to the true, intense vampires
A story made for divine fulfillment
To be the ones breathing a wind of sorrow
Sorrow and fright the dearest catharsis

Beautiful evil self to be the morbid count
A part of a pact that is delightfully immortal

Feel the call freeze you with the uppermost desire
Transilvanian hunger, my mountain is cold

So pure, evil, cold…
Transilvanian hunger…