In the north, a rough wind blows

Whoever defies the storms with his clenched fist and a keen glance who honest and harder than the rest, who rides a black motorcycle through the turns of life - who needs a soundtrack to his side.
And this provides corporate ID.
Martin plunges into souls and screaming exactly what he is up from the ground,
Peter cuts with its strings the standardized silence, sometimes precise, like a razor, sometimes crashing, like a broadsword
and octopus, the metronome angry become, stomps his fierce rhythm to it. A war drum that gathers threat forever.

Honest, hard, pure Metal from where the wind comes from.