Texty: Cauldron Born. ...and Rome Shall Fall. Blood Bath In The Arena.

The wind is moaning through the trees
and the sorceress on her knees
Sacrifice in the grove tonight

The legions are on their way and the Romans they must pay
Sorcery to crush their might

In a world not our own a king lolls on his throne
And faint, he hears the call
>From a book of ancient spells
The sorceress calls up hells
Where the lakes of blood run down like water falls

Demon come forth
Manifest rune Thorn

Thorn the vampire, Thorn the man
Thorn the king from the dying land

Today all in the arena will die except you chosen one
He who holds the sword of Spartacus
Prince of the Erin Isle brother of the sorceress
Armed with the sword by dead heroes blessed