Luyện nghe bài hát Vabzir Camliax

The lunar current within the
It curls around the ashen, uninstructed
them, damn them who pity!
They be smitten and fed to celestial fire
the crowned and conquering one
The joy, seated as a great lost god.

The spake!

Fragrant steam up by offerings
As the weaves her unpenetrable veil
The aether of austere skies
To be airborne is to be lost to the
Evoken as an yet swifter and deadlier
opponent twitching on the talons of eager violence

"The blood is of the moon, monthly;
Then the fresh blood of a child or
from the of heaven; Then of enemies;
of the priest or the worshippers; Last of
some beast, no what."
- LIBER AL vel

OL SONF VABZIR CAMLIAX
CASARMAN VPAAHI TOH