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Released from the Dark Castle,
Black dawn, the Minge Mites scatter.
Yonder valleys, the Mites make people suffer,
The armies will be annihilated,
Their cadavers promptly digested.
Horns protrude from Hairy scalps,
Acidic saliva drips from twisted smiles,
Infants are quick; swallowed in one gulp.
The Bastard Foes are wary.
The Time will come for the Weak.
Towns will be crushed in minutes,
The Armies will die like pigs,
Their feeble weapons are nothing.

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