Brewing A Potion Of Invincibility Or Elixir Of Death, Either I Won’t Be Able To Feel My Hands.

we hail from wretched lands   
from bogs of putrid stench
through vile and wicked mire
we toil until we die
we bend to her disease
we're vermin at her feet
we worship the tainted flag
we exhumed the enchanted hag
our needle fingertips
will mend her tattered veil
of dusk that hides the light
in endless shadowed hell
a throne of goblin bones
awaits her rancid coil
we goblins stand and sing
and wait to crown the queen

THRON3 OF BON3

le nallon i 'waith en gelaidh e gollor bûr
(gather and listen tell the tale of the pale king)

Brewing A Potion Of Invincibility Or Elixir Of Death, Either I Won’t Be Able To Feel My Hands.

Amser Segur

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