Born out of mud
Rising from the remains
Moaning as a wounded beast
Casted in the shadows
Covered by the scars of the fire
That was burning yesterday
It's a muddy, combusted corpse
Made of petrified ashes
And vivid red veins
Providing blood to the lifeless shape
Pumping red to its veins
Slightly, life it then shows
Raising its head that was broken bent
With furious and angry eyes
Born of mud, born of clay
Born of fire, sorrow and pain
Blood fed corpse, no joy, no gain
Injecting fury to its veins
Nameless, lifeless, have no brains
Only an urge that carves in its interior organs
That have crumbled to the depths
Of an endless swamp of disgrace
Only a craving to the sorrow
From which it got created
Only a scream echoing in the universe
Sounding from the core of earth
From waste it’s rising
From pain it’s born
To the sky it’s ascending
To take over the world’s throne
A wasteland it’s generating
As the wasteland it came from
And on blood it’s feeding
Giving it power
Fury, it’s showing
“Anger”, its name to us known
As it rises with its screams
As its moaning cover the sound of whirling wind
It brings dismay to existence
As for blood it prays
It’s calling for blood, it’s calling for hate
“Fury” is its true description
As it brings on misery and chains
A devotion it pays
To the god of blood it only listens
As it ascends to the sky
And bring on darkness and death to the clouds
Black is its colour covered with strings
Vibrating with red as it streams
Through its petrified ashes
That resulted from the burns of yesterday
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