| Borne in a village far from the lighte
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| Declined by his father, the unwanted childe
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| An outcast from hell, a rebel at all
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| Wanted to live not to kneele to the false
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| Disowned by his comrades, standing alone
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| He was never a hero assigned for the throue
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| Deceived and betrayed, tread as a slave
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| The wilde bloody son was fighting his fate
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| Wielding the axe, vengeance in his veins
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| The bloody son hath return’d
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| The Axewielder
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| Back from the grave, he swore to fighte
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| The Axewielder
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| Withe fire in the eyes he’s burning the nighte
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| The Axewielder
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| A warrior, breaking his chains
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| The Axewielder
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| He swore an oathe, it’s the hour of the axe
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| Blinted by shadows in fear of his paste
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| Grown to a rock, the stone in his hearte
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| Walked through the graves, sawe the dust of his life
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| Struggled and bled, he foughte to survive
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| The wrathe in his bloode, the will to succeede
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| Decided to fighte, his fire to feede
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| The oathe hath been sworn, never to crawle
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| He follow’d his hearte, never kneele to the false
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| I see the darke of my childehoode
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| And I feele the hate in my eyes
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| I remember the bloode and the paine
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| But I won’t surrender
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| I won’t kneele to their falsenesse
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| Vengeance fills my veins
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| I will fighte…
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| Back from the grave, it’s the hour of the axe… |