Circle Of The Tyrants - Celtic Frost

After the battle is over

And the sands drunken the blood

All what there remains

Is the bitterness of delusion

Circle of the tyrants

The immortality of the gods

Sits at their side

As they leave the walls behind

To reach the jewel’s gleam

Circle of the tyrants

The days have come

When the steel will rule

And upon his head

A crown of gold

Your hand wields the might

The tyrant’s the precursor

You carry the will

As the morning is near

I sing the ballads

Of victory and defeat

I hear the tales

Of frozen mystery

Your hand wields the might

The tyrant’s the precursor

You carry the will

As the morning is near

The new kingdoms rise

By the circle of the tyrants

In the land of darkness

The warrior that was me

Grotesque glory

None will ever see them fall

And hunts and wars

Are like everlasting shadows

Where the winds cannot reach

The tyrant’s might was born

And often I look back

With tears in my eyes

Grotesque glory

None will ever see them fall

And hunts and wars

Are like everlasting shadows