| The wolf he has claws, fangs and old scars.
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| His fur is covered in red.
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| Stained by the blood of the innocent slain,
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| He has no regret.
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| There’s no mercy for the weak of heart.
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| They’ll be trampled down and torn apart.
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| And as ruthless as it all may seem.
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| Well the wild cares not for the weaker beings.
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| Pursuing the scent, the stench of fear,
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| It leads him to his prey.
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| Cold and alone, forever he roams,
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| Devouring all in his way.
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| There’s no mercy for the weak of heart.
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| They’ll be trampled down and torn apart.
|
| And as ruthless as it all may seem.
|
| Well the wild cares not for the weaker beings.
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| And all that he knows is this life of murder
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| To feed his hunger woes.
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| And he knows that his soul is damned,
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| For what god would love such a wicked awful man. |