Petit Nuage Noir - Son of the Ancients

Night murmurs of witches
Already distorted my disturbing dream
Hair braided into knots
Yes, they whisper - it's him.
They leaned over me
And mutter their spells
They call you to the afterlife
Troubled

One of the witches howled
Like an icy wind
Servants of Satan
Warriors with Christianity
Someone was rushing around the room
Disturbing the peace of burning candles

My eyelids are heavy
But I see how they leaned over me.
Their gray hairs wrapped around my face.

I hear a song
From the very depths of the first birth
I'm not scared
Their mumbling and witchcraft

Arches my body

And now I'm flying through the walls into the darkness
The room is full of insects
Silence and muttering
Reality and half-dream
Cold hands are squeezing me
In an emprace
Flash

And now I see the light!
Light of witchcraft fires!
Dead glare and flocks of owls
Come to us they sing
Come to us they howl
Come to your abode they mutter
Morning is just a memory
Distant, unsteady

I hear a song
From the very depths of the first birth
I'm not scared
Their mumbling and witchcraft
Arches my body

One of the witches
With eyes bigger than the moon
Floats towards me
She whispers to me - sleep until the morning -
Son of gray times