In the yard of wrecks we rise, born from empires’ dying cries. Engines murmur, hulls decay — we haunt this void where shadows sway.
No soul recalls the day we came, to this forsaken claim. Time itself corrodes, yet we helm, eternal echoes in ruin’s realm.
Ghosts of war drift through the black, we stalk their trails, we do not look back. From twisted hulls to dying flame, Each relic whispers our cursed name.
Through nebulae and shattered domain, silent hunters drift where stillness reigns. We feast on derelicts and make them last, traces of battles, remnants of the past.
Fuel in the bay, boosters in vein, volleys on the way — bring them pain! Amid drifting husks and blazing trails, we claim our due where others fail.
Our hearts beat cold in vacuum’s dome, no station stands — yet this is home. Across scarred moons and broken spars, we reap the dark between the stars.
Wreckyard stands where empires fall, we take it all, we take it all. Through endless night our banners gleam, the black itself sustains our dream.
And when the worlds rot, their fires spent, we endure, eternal, violent. No hope survives where we stance, an infinite shadow in death’s expanse.