Running amok from We're sane by PROGNATHE

Heads, limbs, flying around,
A berserk’s in the camp, destroying all.
Our sacrifices should have prevented his return.
Maybe shaman was wrong,
Maybe the gods don’t like killing the young.
Maybe we should have thrown in the weak old man instead.

For he’s Grindel.
Devour, endure and run.
Wild. No quarter be shown,
No mercy to be found.
Grindel, tear down and purify.
No salvation for the tribe.

Shrikes, screams, howling away,
Our final stand is here, dying away.
Defeat is certain, obliteration is near.
Too late for redemption,
No reasoning this beast, destroying us.
Fall by the dozen, diving in the burning furnace.

Face to face, at last, we’re meeting again.
Abomination.
You’re weak and so very old.
Mortification.
No hope for escape, I will take your head.
Plague of our nation.
Reach it, biting half of it off.
Eradication for you.

Grindel. Butcher, devour and run.
Wild. No quarter be shown,
No mercy to be found.
Grindel. Tear down and purify.
No salvation for the tribe.

• Black Metal
• Death Metal
• Grindcore
• Metal
• Noise
• Sludge
• Toulouse