Victory, they are all lying on the ground
All these bloodsmeared chests
Their bare flesh full of wounds, warm
I do taste their delicious blood
What a fine meal they are for me
All those red mourners
One cut in their life is so fatal
For they are the ones we feast from
Their blood is mine, I have the pleasure to kill
Die by the sword
Die by the axe
Die by the stars of morning
Die by our fists