“Lonely wolfes are howling to the moon
A shining fire burns in the night
And a man prepares his horse for war
Betrayed by his friends, banned by his tribe
They tortured him to die but his rage will come to them”
His mind is fulfilled with hate, his sword is like a silverlight
Death and pain to those who had betrayed him
With a final prayer to his gods he rides to his last battle
To find his fate named revenge to his tribe
(Death) is his aim, (rage) is his life
His black blood streams through fired veins
(Death) is his aim, (rage) is his life
His black blood streams through fired veins
In a black night he came like a demon to his tribe
Killed those who had banned him to the desert
Ripping flesh and bones, drinking enemies blood
Screaming in the air, but he is laughing
(Death) is his aim, (rage) is his life
His black blood streams through fired veins
(Death) is his aim, (rage) is his life
His black blood streams through fired veins
(Death) is his aim, (rage) is his life
His black blood streams through fired veins
(Death) is his aim, (rage) is his life
His black blood streams through fired veins
(Death) is his aim, (rage) is his life
His black blood streams through fired veins
(Death) is his aim, (rage) is his life
His black blood streams through fired veins, oh!
His black blood streams through fired veins
...
(Death! Hate!)
(...)
