Son of the Wolf

The wolf he has claws, fangs and old scars.
His fur is covered in red.
Stained by the blood of the innocent slain,
He has no regret.
There’s no mercy for the weak of heart.
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.
Pursuing the scent, the stench of fear,
It leads him to his prey.
Cold and alone, forever he roams,
Devouring all in his way.
There’s no mercy for the weak of heart.
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.
And all that he knows is this life of murder
To feed his hunger woes.
And he knows that his soul is damned,
For what god would love such a wicked awful man.