Let loose full arm and fury, to thy enemies may cry and wane beneath thy sword. Mighty as the sun and eternal as the moon, now comes our wake, of Machiavellian descent, and full of sound and nerve. To let fly, and release the hail of death and torment, on those that call themselves our betters, and on those that dare trample a sprout of freedom. Wail now our dearly departed, for now we move against odds and ends, and against the evil born from our enemies heart. Ours if the might, ours is the fury, ours is the path; of Hell and Heavens tears, to bring forth revenge, on those that dare place tears on our softest cheeks.