The Yankee man sits within the circle of the sun,
And his cybernetic flesh remains unburned.
His life will last for ages.
His power has become unbounded:
With a thought he creates
A world and its inhabitants.
With another he destroys them all.
In his mind he is God-like;
Yet in the depth of his soul,
There has formed a cold abyss
In the midst of which sits an icy shrine.
From there the devil rules his ways
And steals from him all love
And meekness he would show.
The years of Yankee rule
Have plunged the world to darkness.
When will Constantine ascend
The throne again and fill the world with light?
Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!
Anathema to the Union!