Raise your breath, crypts of Medina.



Towards the realm of ritual

Leaded by the grief

The faith in spiritualism

Possesses your belief.



The master won't remit your sins

The judgement has arrived

The atmosphere will bear the fate

The seven mists will rise.



Consecrate the gates to the magicians' hall

Raise the silence, lead the barons to their seat;

Fallacious thoughts die away,

Pernicious doubt begets decay

When the omen prays to heaven for relief.



Hear the prophet's call:

"Woe to the valley of the seventh mystique."



(The curse of Medina:)

A new sin will be born

Upon a life's relic

Redeemers will be torn

For the reign of this mystique.

The guardians to the spell

Protect the ritual

The barons of the dark

Confess.



Let the rubin touch the spirit,

Take the fragment to the king.

Awake the valley of the witches

The curse will form the seventh sin.