There is a primal instinct that can not be tamed

There is a destructive power that can not be named

I wallow in my filth and treasure the stains

Branded by the blood in my veins



Hate and rade

Will not be buried in time

Death is certain

So is the wrath of mine



There is a primal instinct that can not be tamed

There is a destructive power that can not be named

An everlasting hatred

That can not be reduced or taken away

There are no limits for it's desire

The wrath sustains



Scavengers, luders and fools

My inspiration and my tools

Without these empty souls

My wrath would not unfold