Random Derpery


Has a penis diamiter of 4.5cm
Nov 10, 2008
A nameless poem, sung or recited by soldiers and knights of Nullim before (and after, and sometimes during) battle, more-or-less in iambic tetrameter:

The witches call on evil pow'r, our doom draws closer ev'ry hour,
And tyrants bring the lash and chain, to serve ambitions cruel and vain.
Yet dawn has come, the red sunrise. Now, Child of Nullim, Stand Up! Arise!

The call to valour has been made. A heavy toll must now be paid.
The stink of forges, hammers sing. The blacksmith's rhythm, anvil's ring.
Oh, Child of Nullim, steel your will. A shaking hand no blood will spill.

Though spear be broke, though sword be bent, though shields are shattered, armor rent,
We hear invaders' awful tread. The cry of wolves, inspiring dread.
As arrows fly, and vultures call... We're Born of Nullim! We'll face them all!

We raise our mugs, for heroes slain. We mourn them now, we who remain.
To brave the storm, as soldiers must. E'en unto death, to keep the trust.
You left a thirst no drink can quench... til cold-forged blades mete your revenge!

Suff'r no witches, to minds enslave. Send all such monsters to the grave.
The Folk of Nullim have no kings. No Nullim lips shall kiss their rings.
Come all ye demons: meet your fall! We Stand For Nullim! We'll Kill You All!

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