Behind the Mountains

Nothing will be as before
We can now see it
With fascination and horror
The city of the ancient spirit

An infamous architecture
A Cyclopean monument
A non-Euclidean structure
Looks to us like an unspeakable giant
We are cursed
We are cursed

Study each sculpture on these cold walls
We understand your past existence
Your prosperity between these icefalls
Your greatness and quintessence

You created slaves, the shoggoths, powerful and abject
But slaves wanted to become masters, and of your fall they were the architect

Shapeless beings, screaming like birds of Poe
Now only masters of the snow
Resistant to the freezing cold of Antarctica
They haunt the dark Babylonia

L’horreur liée à nos découvertes ne nous arrêta pas dans notre quête de savoir
Pourtant nous avions compris que ces connaissances pouvaient amener l’Homme à sa perte, à sa chute
Nous avançons encore et encore au sein de cette innommable cité cyclopéenne
Les choses très anciennes avaient succombées au froid du désert blanc, mais pas leur création
Abomination informe mais polymorphe, nous entendons son cri aigu et détestable se rapprocher
Comme un avertissement, présageant notre rencontre imminente et inévitable

The creature is in front of me, oozing and spongy
Countless eyes searching in the dark filthy ancestral horror
Dragging his vile body, like in a slow agony, it comes to us
Leaving behind its sticky mark of our souls the infamous killer

Traversant ce dédale de couloirs impies
Nous fuyons cette ineffable vision
Nous arrivons enfin à échapper à la détestable créature
Nos corps saufs, mais nos âmes meurtries

From our plane, we can see one last time the cursed city
Danforth’s crazy howls surround me, one last vision forever taking his sanity

Today I ask the world not to come back to this place of melancholia
For our salvation, no expedition should return to Antarctica
Never!