We stood for seven days in rain.   We left the seven tired cities slain.   When the wind screams through the streets over rose-red soaked concrete.   Grasp the blade of might.   The dull steel forged by fire.   The blood will spill as you unleash your hate and kill.   I'll drag you down to where our souls die.   To where our bodies explode in battle to give birth to the evil life.   The sharpened blade now shines with the power to end lives.   So raise your weapons high.   For now it is time to die.   The axe has taken form and been clutched by the hands.   Swinging high overhead is a dull blade sharpened.   Sharpened by the cries of hell's damned.   The Battle-Axe   The Battle-Axe   The Battle-Axe