Behold the vast dismal hall beneath the black

moutain and the great ebony throne in the

middle of it. See the ancient god sitting upon

this throne and holding in his hand a golden

chalice full of human suffering and fear. Once

god of joy he became god of pain... By the will

of Young Gods. The sword on the altar before

the throne... The sword of blue magical steel...

The Great Sword of Power... My disciple, it

must be yours! Tortured victims fill all the hall

before the throne Losing the rest of mind and

soul with the parting groan Eyes gushing blood,

mouth torn with a scream and no one hears

Before this face, bloodlustful and grim, life

disappears Winged creatures under the ceiling -

down they stare Harvest pain, fear and

suffering bouncing there Mixed with gore it

makes the drink for the ancient god Raising

powers of Mountain King - dreadful lord Hagen,

disciple of Darkness... Step forth and take what

now is yours... The sword... And I will help you

with my force I gather the power for flaming

spell Around myself turning the world Gaining

true fire from the heart of Muspell Floods of the

time I distort Fire shines into their eyes, hear

their cries Dusk dies, uncovers disguise, see

their demise Trampling down mountain guards

you break to the throne Crushing their swords,

slashing apart with the strength grown Fire

shines, blind are their eyes, your powers rise

Dusk dies, uncovers disguise, now take your

prize Before the throne you grab the sword -

finally yours You pierce the chest of mountain

lord with no remorse With their lord

disincarnated the servants of the mountain

disappear And the souls of the tortured finally

obtain their long waited freedom Rejoicing in

their afterlife Banished is the god - the body's

dead and spirit roams But no return for blood

that's shed and for painful groans Victims death

turned into power that never dies Now it's

waiting for its hour to arise