Tribal Rites from Red Church by Red Church

Moon reigns the sky
The wind, it seems to cry
A column of hooded brothers
Reciting texts of their forefathers

Fires begin to rise
Dark figure in disguise
The prayers have been answered
The flame, it thrills and almost dances

The moon of tribal rites
To get the blessing of the sight
And under pale and ghostly light
Witness the spirits of the night

Runes are being carved
Bones leave many scars
Drops of newborn’s blood
Spilled on a metal stud

The figure steps from fire
He shall grant them their desire
Their wish is being spoken
The bond is never broken

The moon of tribal rites
To get the blessing of the sight
And under pale and ghostly light
Witness the spirits of the night

The fire has died out
The air brings no sound
The pagan night is gone
Cast out by the sun

Cultists start to spread
The sacrificed lie dead
Left to rot and wither
Until the next rite happens hither

The moon of tribal rites
To get the blessing of the sight
And under pale and ghostly light
Witness the spirits of the night

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