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Now To The Victor Go The spoils

The Chosen

My own weakness
Sickens me
Me this Chosen warrior
Trying to put sense in my life

I vomit on orderly rites
Why don't we take this world
To former heights

This is my Utopia, Misantropia

Grey is my armor, cold is the steel
My blood is still red
But for what cause
Did this warrior bled

I am the Victor
My battle is won

In rage I handled my sword
The reign of other souls cut short
I am king, what are the odds
Now to the Victor go the spoils