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!