The moon is full and high
The hooded figures are walking
One by one, at the crest of the hill
No wind is blowing tonight
The nightbirds are mute
The robed ones are now descending
With torches in hand, down the kluf
The leafs of the trees are freezed
Even the shadows seem to be still
Now that they have reached the glade
One by one, they are forming a circle
The silence is broken by chanting whispers
Mystic symbols are drawned on the ground
Ancient words are spoken
From languages forgotten
Some to be praised
Some to be cursed
Tonight is the night of the gathering
The hooded figures are walking
One by one, at the crest of the hill
No wind is blowing tonight
The nightbirds are mute
The robed ones are now descending
With torches in hand, down the kluf
The leafs of the trees are freezed
Even the shadows seem to be still
Now that they have reached the glade
One by one, they are forming a circle
The silence is broken by chanting whispers
Mystic symbols are drawned on the ground
Ancient words are spoken
From languages forgotten
Some to be praised
Some to be cursed
Tonight is the night of the gathering