Now To The Victor Go The spoils
The Chosen
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My own weakness
Sickens me
Me this Chosen warrior
Trying to put sense in my life
I vomit on orderly rites
Why don't we take this world
To former heights
This is my Utopia, Misantropia
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Grey is my armor, cold is the steel
My blood is still red
But for what cause
Did this warrior bled
I am the Victor
My battle is won
In rage I handled my sword
The reign of other souls cut short
I am king, what are the odds
Now to the Victor go the spoils