To the Slaughter
By Rage we come, reaping and ravaging as we go. To pillage farms, with sinister intent; all your maladies doth now repent. We take your woman, we take your prize, and with kinder gestures, we slay them all. Your allies, your enemies, we kill them all; all in your name. By pen you decree, and by act we enable. To maim those that oppose us, and bring War to its triumphant eclipse, a climax to us, a tear to you. Stratagems will not avail you, tactics are pointless. Against the endless hordes at my command, we simply charge, and down your gullet we flay our swords. To rip asunder, and skewer on pikes, we now lash out and cry. Bring them Down. We do not stop, we do not tire. You woman; just a start, as we topple your statues, and lay all your works to the Flame. Think us not cruel, some woman are worth trophies, just as some tomes are worth more. We take your knowledge, and make it our own. Think us not the conquerors of old. For we prize Tomes, just as much as we prize woman. And Our woman know the full fury of our wrath. Since they are the ones who make the Front Lines.