Raise the battle-axe unto their skulls in the bliss of spilling blood on enemy soil. Towards the synagogue, with thirst for Semite blood... From a trail of churches Burning.
Under the Haunting Moon, with sword in hand I ride and I exalt the horns of battle towards the sky. I slay the souls of the Jesuit creed, and bathe in their curdled blood.
Forsaken, their armies fell. Those who died did not die a quick death. They would drown in their brother's blood, at my feet upon battle ground. Victory shall be ours, as we march to battle drums.