Oh, muse, grant me the will and power to crft this poem.
Grant me the will ad power to pass the message.
Blood runs trought you.
Blood is you.
It's a river where your soul lives.
It's a water you drink everyday.

And it tastes like evil because of that.
Oh Muse, grant me the wisdom to feel the flavour!
Grant me the power to taste it!
Grant me the victims to serve it!
And a feast shall happen and all shall revel in it.
Because Blood is Life, and we shall drink yours...

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Sarapin, in the year 525 AF.