Panserbjørne

Every ruinous paw
Could cut a vulgar iron blade
Every dreadful touch
Could overwhelm an entire platoon
His armour forged
With a metal from the sky
A gear is the soul of a Panserbjørne.

Lies in the heart of all storms
The frostbitten fortress of Panserbjørne
The hammers, the screams and the roars
Of the coldest wind and warmest forge.

Bred onto frozen lands
Armored death, merciless tanks
Warriors forging their own souls
In an hellish smithy of starfall.

This is why a bear is born
To wear the skin of a Panserbjørne.

Strong innate sense for deceit
No feint, no trick
Their metal can't even be breached
By the subtlest coward's falsities.

This is why a bear is born
To wear the skin of a Panserbjørne.

He came back to claim his throne
Renegade prince, true savage will
To face a human behaving king
Abomination of mannerism.

Lost in obsession and lust
Through a little child he couldn't see
(Silvertongue)
Stately and proud he could win
But he paid with life his vanity
'Cause.

This is why a bear is born
To wear the skin of a Panserbjørne.