The Midnight Prowler

I am the Midnight Prowler, son of the moon,
and I am the child of the ## generation....

I wish for the day that I will return to England, so I may once again walk upon its pure virgin lands of green fields, I wish for my feet to touch the soft long grass, and feel the slow sea on my skin, like we did in the age of the Gods.

I will fight for England, I will fight for what I believe is right: Let us drink knowing that England will sleep well, knowing that no Saxon man will touch the pure, virgin land of Great Britain! If the Saxons try, and touch our pure, and most Holy land, then we will take action, and show them our metal!

I shed the blood of the Saxon men!
I shed it at Verden!
I shed the blood of the Saxon men!
I shed the blood of four thousand Saxon men!
I shed the blood of the Saxon men!

Let the rivers run red!
Let the rivers run red with the blood of the Saxon men!
Let the rivers run red with the blood of four thousand Saxon men!

We shell rejoice in knowing that the Saxons do not have God on their side, and will die like fools. When we have shown the Saxons out mite, then we shell drink for a thousand, and one years on the honey, milk, and the fruits of the Gods!

But until that day, may I fight by my fellow Christians, fighting the good fight, and believing what is right. If my excalibur shell slip in my hands, and a Saxon man shell shed my blood, I am content, in knowing that my blood will not be in vain.

Death to the Saxon men!