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Dusk has fallen over the land. In front of the holy halls they´re standing, reams of people dressed in black, all have come for finally their pleading and asking for getting back a gleam of the gods has been answered. Over and over again they have been speaking the words all night long.
I gamle gamle --- You old, old
hensvundne Dage! --- vanished days!
da det straalte i Norden --- When it was shining in the North
da Himlen var paa Jorden, --- when heaven was on earth,
giv et Glimt tilbage. --- give back a gleam.
And the godly force of the North has come back, to give them what they had missed so much. The charm of the magic, the secrets of the mystic, the darkness of the underworld, the unutterable power, the heaven on earth, to soak up all that and praise the return of the gods ecstactically.
Engel They are the vanguard of the gods, and although pretty unknown, they have been elected to get the crowd into the mood for the big thing to come. They have come from Sweden across the sea and their message is umistakable, gloomy, energetic and full of power. Despite the punchy gig, they have a hard time getting the audience going, since the fans have been waiting for their idols way too long already.
Amon Amarth Descended from Valhall have the Viking gods, to herald their stories from the roaring sea, their fights and victories, of courage and strength, steeliness and honour of being a warrior. A bloodcurdling growling and screaming arises in the holy halls, when the allmighty show up. Men strong and fearless like bears, their singing axes still covered with dried blood of their victims and their wardrum sounds like the flannelly dipping of helms of a dragon boat into the roaring sea. In the middle he is standing with a wide stance with muscular tight thighs, long blond hair and a flowing beard, firm as a rock, that no one can pass. His voice stirs up the blood. The crowd shows tribut to him and his fellow musicians, hands and horns are being raised.
In the heat of the battle, some young women are lacking of fresh air and they feel the power of their legs fading, they´re being carried out of the crowd. Time flies, much faster than it ought to and we have to let them go.
With a big grin in his face their leader raises the horn filled with neactar of the gods for saying farewell and thank you for so much euphoria and wanders yonder.
Ascended from hell have the dark creatures with the thrilling sinister gaze, from which there is no escape. They bring you all, what of you should be afraid: obsession, dependency and adoration. Satans disciples are here to bring us their hard, sinister, gloomy, unremorsefuly and melancholic message.
Shagrath is screaming his incantation adamantly, since he is in search of new souls. And those who can resist will be lost, when the voice of Vortex is sounding. It´s so clear and pure like that of a fallen angel. Like in trance the mortals are standing, letting their head rotate and the hair flies to and fro. Merciless and remorseless the hellhounds are munching into your brain with every syllable and every note.