Silly mortal you've the brain of worms
So I shall explain in lamer terms
To be blunt...you look like a dope
With your useless hope

Soon there will be the smell of dead
And lakes and rivers will run red
Souls will die
and families will cry

Husbands and sons go to war
Wives and daughters lock the doors
Blood will be shed
People will mourn the dead

But who will achieve victory
Only the future can see

Penned by my hand on the 1st of Variach, in the year 125 MA.