[Verse 1 – Spoken / clean vocals] Steel echoes in the frostbit halls But discipline is thin— No mail arrives, no ale to pour, And tempers wear too thin.
They drink stale hopes and empty tales, Their mugs long dry and cursed. The fort, once proud with discipline, Now waits to see what's worse.
[Chorus – Martial and foreboding] Hear the call — Frostmoth cracks No drink, no gold, no letters back The men grow wild, the ranks unchain And something stirs beneath the pain
[Verse 2 – Gritty and rising tension] The quartermaster curses fate, His ledgers lie, his patience worn. The ale’s gone missing from the south— Not stolen. Lost. Or never born?
The blacksmith hides behind his forge, The priest just shrugs and locks the shrine. Each soldier sharpens rusty blades And glares across the mess hall line.
[Bridge – Clean, ambient, eerie] I came to aid. I came to serve. But find no answers. Only nerves. A garrison denied its drink Soon starts to rot, and worse... to think.
[Verse 3 – Harsh vocals / building intensity] And still they vanish, one by one Into the woods, into the dark. Some say it's wolves, some say it's fate Some whisper of a hunting mark.
The nights grow long, the bloodmoon climbs Though no one dares to speak the name. This is no garrison. No shield. It’s prey that waits beneath the flame.
[Chorus – Refrain, heavier] Hear the call — Frostmoth bleeds Dry of spirit, lost to need The Empire sleeps while whispers crawl And something hunts... just past the wall
[Outro – Fading drums, slow whispered line] The ale is gone. The captain too. And what remains... is cold and true.
A zene stílusa
dark electronic power metal, rich but lower male vocal, epic, ECLIPTIC wide range chorus