Gazing out the looking glass,
I see this storm ahead,
A noxious cloud of stink and dust,
The reaper looking for new dead.

This time's unlike before,
Without chance for escape,
We're left to build our fort,
And what a tomb we'll make.

Dream such vivid colors,
These our walls we paint,
Give us blood, bile, and flames,
This is how we'll redecorate.

These fiends haven't tasted defeat,
Well sisters, neither have we,
Yes they thirst for blood and pain,
But we too can drink.

This stinking hoard before me,
A rogue wave in a wretched sea,
Ride forth to offer \- mercy\
We'd rather die than call you King.