I have but one desire
Let it be
A pestilence upon your lands
And a plague upon all your houses
It is my wish
To enslave all your people
The soil enriched with their blood
To burn your places of worship
And our gods shall become your Gods
Our gods shall become your Gods
And all that lives on the vine is rotten
May your wines be foul
May your wines be foul
And your bread as the flesh of the dead
As the flesh of the dead
The dead
An ill wind to bring nought but decay
Nought but decay
Decay
And the stench of your slaughtered kin
Your slaughtered kin
Dead
And the stench of your slaughtered kin
Breath, breath in deep
The rancid stench
Every last one of you
The newborn, are borne with fear in their eyes
And slavery in their limbs
As tools to build a new Empire
We are your cross to bear
You shall be a martyred people
But as sure as the night follows the day
You shall be
A dead
Dead
Dead
People
