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.