March to Haitus
Haitus, Land of the Crushers.
Hums of Grinders.
Rotten souls wither in urine and blood.
Disgusting screams of babies on spits,
Sustain the flames,
That burn the wretched twits.
Fools, Tender flesh, hastily ravaged.
Hark! The Butchering Knights
March to Haitus,
Bellies full.