Now To The Victor Go The spoils کے بول

My own weakness Sickens me Me this Chosen warrior Trying to put sense in my life I vomit on orderly rites Why don't we take this world To former heights This is my Utopia, Misantropia Grey is my armor, cold is the steel My blood is still red But for what cause Did this warrior bled I am the Victor My battle is won In rage I handled my sword The reign of other souls cut short I am king, what are the odds Now to the Victor go the spoils