Deep flows the streamBeneath the hills of OccidentDark as blood running through ages dimFrom beginning ôtil the endIn caves and grottoes spiedRenounced, revered and scryedBy men with dolch and bellRoma, Amor; the ill and wellFor good spirits of EuropeMen come with staff and scepter alikeWith Tafur hordes, on horses highPaint the Devil on the wallPaint it black and paint it tallBut as Montsegur enduresThere will be your lightOh LucibelAnd when we shall burn aliveWith sulphur crowns shoot up the skyThen we shall be your lightOh LucibelPale is the horseUpon which sits merciful fateCrimson the hoovesTo trample fools beneath its gaitHeretics and warlocksTheir vernal equinoxGods suffered not by RomeGods men know notGods men forgotFor good spirits of EuropeMen come with cudgel and claymore alikeWith Tafur hordes, on horses highAnd itôs not the life thatôs givenBut the death thatôs takenWhen all that weôre worth is vanguishedDamned and undoneThe good spirits of EuropeStand with Abraxas behind the sunWeôll burn in your fire, LucibelBurn through the night, Lucibel