There is a primal instinct that cannot be tamed   There is a destructive power that cannot be named   I wallow in my filth and treasure the stains   Branded by the blood in my veins      Hate and rage   Will not be buried in time   Death is certain   So's the wrath of mine      There is a primal instinct that cannot be tamed   There is a destructive power that cannot be named   An everlasting hatred   That can not be reduced or taken away   There are no limits for its desire   The wrath sustains      Scavengers, looters and fools   My inspiration and my tools   Without these empty souls   My wrath would not unfold