Lord Belial

I gaze towards the wide horizon amidst the distant mountains
Frozen winds from the north whip my parched and dying skin
A passing glance over these scorched plains, a sinister vision
The Death Cult Era is rising from the ashes on this unhallowed ground
The frozen winds chant in sorrow
Fallen souls sweep the skies
The scorched plains lie dead
Dust of angels gently sweep the air
Once here was a place of worship, where angels sung their praises of god
A marble altar in a ruined temple broken down by the teeth of time
A cross in the soil once pointed towards the sky now broken into pieces