The air
Ashore
The air
Ashore

Now harken the prophet,
Elected to kick the face
With no fools to stop it
We're fucked up and gone with no trace

Ain't got to appease
The profit sees death or disease

If by the swords of invaders
Our countrymen are beset,
Let our foe drip blood...

One who in shackles
Did rend the attackers tongue,
Sparked eight savage battles
Usurpers will be overrun

The prophet foresees
We draw death in death or disease

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