Good sir, Will thy be mistaken for a foe or an acquintance in a green barren land thy wish to conquer?
No matter how hard thou trieth—in the heat of war, thine irises must seek crimson; the talks are a fool’s errand which thy almighty lord rejecteth.
“behold the field in which I grow my fucks
lay thine eyes upon it and thou shalt see that it is barren”