The Feral Cycle

Mortified in the lack of grace
We are insignificant in the name of this reign
A systematic savagery shapes
Still cries out for more epitaph

Dark is the machine, the gears - behind black curtains - move
They are long forgotten, forsaken, but still restless

Once more the march begins
And arms will strike again
In the heart of every fallen man
It grows: The seed of pure vengeance

Obey the brave, and crush the wretched
Ascend to dominate at any costs!
Downfall, revolt, overthrow no matter what option
At last you can worship the purest of powers

Once more the march begins
And Arms will strike again
In the heart of every fallen man
It grows: The seed pure vengeance
It feeds ever flowing ferocity

A systematic savagery shapes
Still cries out for more epitaph

And fear runs through the veins of weak. Soon they will fall to sour the marrow of this soil. And as the serpent slithers under leaf mound it silently hunts, breeds from our shadows. It breeds to upkeep the feral cycle

Driven to be invincible
Man always tastes a bitter end

Hand in hand in cold dead letargy
We’re facing pure wildreness
And cruel nature will rise
Again, and again, and again