Sangtekst: Rakoth. Mountain God.

Behold the vast dismal hall beneath the black
moutain and the great ebony throne in the
middle of it. See the ancient god sitting upon
this throne and holding in his hand a golden
chalice full of human suffering and fear. Once
god of joy he became god of pain... By the will
of Young Gods. The sword on the altar before
the throne... The sword of blue magical steel...
The Great Sword of Power... My disciple, it
must be yours! Tortured victims fill all the hall
before the throne Losing the rest of mind and
soul with the parting groan Eyes gushing blood,
mouth torn with a scream and no one hears
Before this face, bloodlustful and grim, life
disappears Winged creatures under the ceiling -
down they stare Harvest pain, fear and
suffering bouncing there Mixed with gore it
makes the drink for the ancient god Raising
powers of Mountain King - dreadful lord Hagen,
disciple of Darkness... Step forth and take what
now is yours... The sword... And I will help you
with my force I gather the power for flaming
spell Around myself turning the world Gaining
true fire from the heart of Muspell Floods of the
time I distort Fire shines into their eyes, hear
their cries Dusk dies, uncovers disguise, see
their demise Trampling down mountain guards
you break to the throne Crushing their swords,
slashing apart with the strength grown Fire
shines, blind are their eyes, your powers rise
Dusk dies, uncovers disguise, now take your
prize Before the throne you grab the sword -
finally yours You pierce the chest of mountain
lord with no remorse With their lord
disincarnated the servants of the mountain
disappear And the souls of the tortured finally
obtain their long waited freedom Rejoicing in
their afterlife Banished is the god - the body's
dead and spirit roams But no return for blood
that's shed and for painful groans Victims death
turned into power that never dies Now it's
waiting for its hour to arise