Ritual Iron Mausoleum

Deep in the soil where the cold roots grow (ooh,

low hum) Under the arch where the black rivers flow

Carve the mark in the ancient stone

Nocturnal shadows, we walk alone

Rural dust

on the old altar-place (ahhh)

Time

erases

the lines of the face

Carve the mark in the ancient stone

Nocturnal shadows, we walk alone

(ooh, hummm)