When the Gods Are Not Creating - Gutted

Spirits of the abyss*

Gathered together

Lust for human flesh

Nothing will remain

Crawling around the sinners

Turn them inside out

Icy storm in their eyes

From the centuries they will rise

Gods of the ancient grounds

They will dominate

Hunger for blood

Blood of the weak

Hunger for flesh

Flesh of the weak

Taste the worst of us

Feel the worst of us

Humans will serve they need and lust

They’ll bring doom upon us

Blood of our ground spills around

Empty bodies will roam alone

The creatures of the dark

Eating up all the light

Kings of the underworld

Wipe us out, all of us

Reach what’s behind our mind

Touch what’s behind our mind

Swallow what’s behind our mind

Destroy what’s behind our mind

At the gates of their world

Gutted souls lying around

Rotting away on the dark,

Abandoned, plundered ground

Pain and misery released

Fall of the weak is near

Slavery, enslavement

Brought by the ancient owns

Feasting — On their blood

Killing — Their breed

Endless lake of the dead

Reflects on their faces

Driving the human herd

Into the valley of pain