We've all heard the tales, Of barbarian lore
Warriors who do nothing, but fight for their wards
They train from a young age, to slaughter in numbers
greater than those, that some countries support

Boiling, Burning, Tearing, Ripping
Breaking, Crushing, Mashing, and Crippling
Consuming these corpses allows them to kill
In then hundreds as they need to gorge on their fill

Blood of heroes
Flows deep down inside
This empowers
All to subside
These wounds don't allow
Pain to arrise
Wherever they're from
You're sure to die

But a group exists, not know by all
Berserkers who grow furious, from the flesh in the hall
The blood enrages, their eyes crimson red
fed flesh are these warriors, feared by the worls

Being slaughteres they will kill
All the hopes of living
Crimson fields stained with blood
Now we all mus perish

They swarm in, over the plains
To come break, loose the chains
Soon our legion will die
Before the glorious cry