Klaymore - Death Grip

Shake down, a beating, we're coming through the mist,
You're gonna have a breakdown, from feeling, the impact it enlists,
Like lightning, the striking, will fuse you to the ground,
Give you a brain shake, no mistake, you will be taken down.

Souls rest in peace as we call for the priest,
Leave them where they lay,
Fold your hands and pray,
Or you'll be caught in its Death Grip.

Thousands aligning, their fists pound in the air,
Shapeless gargantuan, with bleeding eyes it stares,
Set loose on the cloister, it sends screams down the halls,
Rending the infidel, and throws them to the walls.

None are released from the eyes of the beast,
As their minds decay,
Bow your heads and pray,
Or you'll be caught in its Death Grip.

Smiting its foes with a force unmistaken,
It feeds off the souls from the lives it has taken,
Tightening its grip it goes through them like fodder,
Licking its lips it continues the slaughter.

Beat down, razorblade, lashes through the air,
Curb stomped, skulls crushed, tendons rip and tear,
Like nails scratching at you, it grabs you by the throat,
Eviscerates, the air ways, as you start to choke.