Drums that beat, and sire hate, drums that beat and bring forth the wrath. Of wrath be kindled and of hate be born; our love be held aloft by the dead, macabre and the soon to be forgotten. The revenant and the magpie now do confer, with ravens as their mead, and gorges as their field. To hymns with drums, and songs with flute, now we dance the blue heavens, now we sip from the Red River. Damn we be, and damned we shall live, but as we live, so to do we love to Lust.