Текст песни Darkthrone - Transilvanian Hunger

Текст:

Transilvanian hunger cold, soul Your hands are cruel... to haunt, to haunt The mountains are cold... soul, cold Careful pale, forever at night Take me can't you feel the call Embrace me eternally in your daylight slumber To be draped by the shadow of your morbid palace Ohh, hate living... The only heat is warm blood So pure... So cold Transilvanian hunger Hail to the true, intense vampires A story made for divine fulfillment To be the one's breathing a wind of sorrow Sorrow and fright the dearest katharsis Beautiful evil self to be the morbid count A part of a pact that is delightfully immortal Feel the call freeze you with the uppermost desire Transilvanian hunger, my mountain is cold So pure... Evil, cold Transilvanian hunger

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