Oceans of blood; crimson tides.
All shall drown, and all shall die.
Until the sun rises: hot and red.
Until again you might rest your weary heads.
Victory or defeat: cherish them both.
Through swings of the blade, and bleeding, cut throats.

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 13th of Ivolnos, in the year 5 AC.