i have but one desire let it be a pestilence upon your lands and a plague upon all your houses it is my wish to enslave all your people the soil enriched with their blood to burn your places of worship and our gods shall become your gods all that lives on the vine is rotten may your wines be foul and your bread as the flesh of the dead an ill wind to bring nought but decay and the stench of your slaughtered kin your slaughtered kin dead the stench of your slaughtered kin breathe breathe in deep the rancid stench every last one of you the newborn borne with fear in their eyes and slavery in their limbs as tools to build a new empire we are your cross to bear you shall be a martyred people but as sure as the night follows the day you shall be a dead dead dead people