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Harken to myne words beautiful mortal beasts, for thyne eyes art grippened by the word of the one who hath beganith all which thyne soul knoweth deep. Myne essence ‘tis of thyne hope and thyne fear, thyne love and thyne hate. I be the daemon which crawleth under thyne cradle’s covers to gnaw thyne tender toes and massage thyne craven teet. And if thou not yet knoweth, ‘tis solemn truth that I be thyne God, thyne supreme ruler, thyne lover, dammit I be thou Sensual Armed Commander. And with this decree, ‘tis myne intention to bequeath unto thee, the most noble and mighty of all warriors, who art thou Sensual Armed Forces. A gallant pair of wretched men composeth this troupe, and with these knights of pow’r and beauty, whereth truth and mendacity prevail, thou shalt find them betwixt thyne very conception of sensuality and war. I command thee to embrace the weapons of melody presented by these two, for these art myne holy soldiers, and ther voice the embodiment of thyne hard Father's breast. And one last word for the faithful, a glorious prize hath been promised to whom soever alloweth myne warriors to massage ther back:
Thou shalt be rewarded with your head hacked off by an axe.

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