Twothousand stallions foaming with hate Carrying their masters towards their fate Into the battle they ride Twothousand men too young to die Massacre
feast from human hearts The battle is lost still someone always wins And now they descend on death's black wings Massacre...... (Massacre......)
Fordítás: Bathory. Mészárlás.
and feast from human hearts The battle is lost still someone always wins And now they descend on death's black wings Massacre...... (Massacre......)
