victor.

we gather, the young lonesome revolutionaries, and our thrust upon king asks for our heads. he calls us traitors, barbaric rebels of filthy nights.
but we know, we worship the mother ground that gave us forth, bestowed to us it`s great fruits and goods, we shall not sit back and watch an immoral, self-magnifying, girlish child of a man, rape it.
our mother, england, calls to us, to crush the parasite upon it`s thrown, even if eventually, we get our heads cut off, the very life, stolen out of us.
we, freakeled, scrawny, red headed boys, men with grand perception, do pray for the very pillers of england, it`s vast skis, it`s lonesome roads, it`s swift trik of the toung.
we, the young, lonesome revolutionaries, give our heads and hearts, our dreams, and loves, our silk haierd women, the embrace of our mothers, the joy of tea at dawn, for her.
for our queen, for England.