The Hunter -

Sink to mothers sick world

Ripping soars of blackned hate

Shadows guide his hand

Stills a soul and grips onto a promised fate

True death awaits

Wicked words are whispered

Streams in a ghostly sickened dance

Thicking time bomb

The fuses led, all hope and reasons lost

One more life that should not be

One more death won’t set him free

One more prayer, more wrath his will

Once more free to bind, torture, kill

Nailed to the cross in sin

Choking a life so innocent

His God, his madness

He is the sum of all your fears

Death approaches when he nears

In a dark room, king of pain

Pure lunacy his realm

Puppet masters moving string

Pull thigh on evil reign

Automated play-thing

Finger points to a palace of skulls

Trophies hang, the hunters prize

You become his pray

More wrath his will

Death won’t set him free

More wrath his will

Life that should not be

More wrath his will

Death won’t set him free

More wrath his will

Death approaches when he nears