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Marduk
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1
Then it will be by the pale death with his cold hand,
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Who with time will stroke your breasts at last;
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The precious coral of your lips long past,
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Your shoulder's snow, now warm,
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Turned cold to sand.
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Your eye's sweet lightning, the skills of your hand,
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To him before whom all things fail, will fall
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That hair that rivals gold, it's gleam will pall,
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With days and years as any common band.
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Your well-formed foot, your so enchanting ways,
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Of not to dust, to nothing time decays,
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Then none will bow down for your beauty's sake,
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This and more than this will come to be;
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Not even your bones the end of time will see,
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Since time chose of nothing it to make.
MARDUK - Frontschwein (OFFICIAL VIDEO).
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