| Assemblage
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| A Servant of the horns
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| The oracle of truth and immortality
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| A shadow in our native land speaks a viper’s tongue
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| And hears a sigil unfamiliar
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| The ghosts whisper their locations of falsehood
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| A horde rides forth against the light of the sun
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| In defense of sacred soil, our spirit is enchanted
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| And by their blood spilt we are cleansed
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| A servant of the horns
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| We are an assemblage of wolves
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| To take them from their Christian souls
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| A shadow in our native lands speaks a viper’s tongue
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| And bears a sigil unfamiliar
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| Angered are our pagan lords
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| As we are crucified before the eyes of the hordes
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| Forever we lay, ever we lay
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| Ever are we the servants of the light of that consumes the shadow
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| Spit in the face of crucifixion we spill their blood in reclamation
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| Angered are our pagan lords, as we are crucified before the eyes of the hordes
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| My destiny is to spill Christian bloodlines
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| My loyalty lies to my native lands |