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

Thy realm, wherein we know eternal lyfe
Thy tomb, wher endeth our eternal strife

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