The Berserker's Field of Whores - Destroy Destroy Destroy

The smell of murder runs down your filthy thighs

A martyr’s not a martyr if he doesn’t fucking die

You can’t go slow with it

Your ribs will show with it

Your skin will rip off leaving you exposed

The bezerker in his docile mode

His campaign of terror

On fetal souls ungrown

The seed of mortal wives

To keep for his own

Slumber is the hunger for the whores he has sown

In fields of wretched women who have sold him their souls

You can’t grow with them

They’re just thrown

Into a pile that will rot and implode

I am the harvester of woe

I live beneath this tyrants throne

I seek for that which he throws

To have for my own

The bezerker in his docile mode

The bezerker in his docile mode

I’ll take what is thrown from his field of whores

His campaign of terror

On fetal souls ungrown

The seed of mortal wives

To keep for his own

The bezerker in his docile mode