Furor Teutonicus — Adorned Brood

The moon lets proudly glisten the warpaint and spikes the knights they stand over there watching in the dark are fearless while they think That could be the last beautiful night.

Be willing to die and to kill the swords, axes and shields are shining dreadful in the moonlight then they raise their fists and scream their warcry

Furor Teutonicus

The horde blows the enemies the swords are drilled into the bastardВґs bodies axes chop off and split their heads the battle was won

The battlefield was a sea of blood and pain