O’er endless hills of ice and snow
There is a place I dare not go
Across a sea of bitter frost
There lies a land that time has lost
In my blackest nightmares

The cities of a nation crushed
By faceless gods of hate and dust
I shudder at its whispered name
That hidden land of bleakened fame
In my addled shattered sleep

The country which again will rise
From the ashes of its demise
From neglect of a prior age
At the hands of gnashing rage
In my dreams of pitch and poison

When set at last is the sun
And pale stars rise at the drum
Beating quiet ere the dawn of time
Shaking off ages of filth and grime
The Final Night will rear its head
And that abysmal land will arise—
—no longer dead
In my blackest nightmares