Dämmerungskult

The man passed down the pathway
Towards the glowing fires

The village greeting the winter
With age-worn tradition and song

The people night-chant the praises
In costumes, drinking and prayers

The harvest grows with moonlight
No lovers of the burning sun

The folk of the north were cultists

And they've been here
For a thousand years

To serve the vault
To set you free from all your fears