In dead city: he waits thy chanting call Whych riseth from ye cave and from ye temple ball Remember, ye who call upon his name Ye ancient ones whych watch thy mortal game
For he is kyng, and doth forever wait Awakenyng: ye dawn which calleth hate
Calles up thy legions: and doth rouse to late Ye others from their watche by hydden gate So come, ye priests and acolytes of might Make readie for ye festival, ye ryte
Call up ye blackened legions off ye pit To dance before ye throne wher he doth sit Calling, calling ye prince of darknesse black Awakenyng, awakenyng ye dawn which calleth hate Dreaming, dreaming off hys evil spawn Calling, calling within ye woods
So shout ye chant, and make ye caverns rynge Hear thy unhallowed multitudes now sing
Thy priests, master off a thousand names Thy glories, kyng of all begotten paynes Thy honnour great, ye prince of darknesse black Thy holle region, chief off ye haowlyng packe
Thy lyfe, a lord off hys evil spawn Thy might from olde chaosgod now gone Thy lesser ones, which dwell within ye star Thy brother, hastur, who doth watch a far
Call up ye blackened legions off ye pit To dance before ye throne wher he doth sit Calling, calling ye prince of darknesse black Awakenyng, awakenyng ye dawn which calleth hate Dreaming, dreaming off hys evil spawn Calling, calling within ye woods