March, Ye Bandits,
and open the gates
to the old road,
o’er bridges;
the hour is late.
March, Ye Bandits,
like prisoners chained
to the pillars,
then gallows;
undoubtedly hanged.
March, Ye Bandits,
ye scoundrels, ye swine
to the wild,
the public;
with absence of lines.
March, Ye Bandits,
and tear down the walls
to the village,
the kingdom;
may fear be installed.
March, Ye Bandits,
the fires will spread
to the buildings,
the townsfolk;
the ashes of dead.
March, Ye Bandits,
with trophies in hand
to the fortress,
the temples;
the conquer of lands.
March, Ye Bandits,
o’er bodies and graves
to the forests,
the rivers;
may no one be saved.
March, Ye Bandits,
ye servants of hate
to the old road,
o’er bridges;
the hour is late.
AML Author 