I kicked the 4th horsemen off his steed,
Mounted up to spread my misdeeds.
Ash drifts on the breeze, howls of pain echo as tyrants beg from their knees.
Spill their bowels, and slit throats,
Storm the citadels, cross their moats,
Ride behind me through this charge into the last battle,
Smash your sword upon shields with the death rattle
Drive the masses before us as chattel
Raze their temples of finance,
Spare not this day of victory and chance!
Accept your death as a gift,
For it is an honor my brothers to leap across such a rift.
On your dying breath, release your ghost, smile for it is you who gave the most.
May your fingers clutch febrile empty weapons,
and before you lay a field of dying statist pawns.
