Our Lady of the Winds
Behold Children of the Sovereign Flock
We have just sojourned in gravest secret through giant Albion's own Flocklands of the southern seas - passing ghostwise through the Tristest of all Cunhas and the Saintliest of all Hellenes - stopping to spy on the loves of those simplest of villagers, but never to reveal myself to their wondering eyes - and by measures I have returned to Her Magisty's revolted colons of Amriqa.
These Flocklands have been Flaklands - cruelly splatted with the blood of beltrano, massacred at the maw of malevolant Maggies. Magpie thief and crow! Your devious deeds have gone noticed by SARA these many ages - your wickedry on seven continents now revealed before the staggered gayz of all the assembled Monde!
Maggie Thatcher you have been the one. Yes it was you. 1981 was the year of your trespass -- a year of rape and miscarriage. And who was the father? Maggie it was you, iron witch, who with magic and Queen Trix sired the aborted foetus of Christ in my womb. In that dark alley I saw your face. Old haggard and raw. Your scabs left me in disunion.
Maggie you slaughtered the authentic Christ and fathered a disfigured one. Ian Chirtus martyred 1980 at your command. Baby Jesus IV left ragged in a portside quay 1981. And what do we find to distrait us in 82? The betrayal of our beloved Galtieri.
You misled him Maggie Thatcher, o harlot and ministress of curses. And to hide your crime and villainy, you led him to those tussock downs. You sacrificed the blood of those wee ones for your lust. Grytviken defiled by your ram. Port Stanley the scene of great shame.
For your sake all Britannia shall quail for a thousandyear. In your islids breeds death and despair. Les Malouines plucked from the purse of their possesor and hid in the bosom of your throne. Maggie Thatcher this will not stand. You killed my warrah, you bitch.
In 5 years the Malouines fall to a new possesor. Her name is Sara. She is the sheba and qeen of that age. And her throne? Blessed Stanley in the Metapatagonian sea.
But for now let not the evil of old ones possess them. Their villagers cry out for a just master. long have they suffered the yoke of the oppressor whip. Long have they longed for the just junta to return.
Malvinas de todo el mundo! We are sounding the shofar of sovereign triumph! Argentine -- claim your prize.
Jesus is dog. And he now stands guard. Culpeo is not Culpable. Stand YE condemned.
We have just sojourned in gravest secret through giant Albion's own Flocklands of the southern seas - passing ghostwise through the Tristest of all Cunhas and the Saintliest of all Hellenes - stopping to spy on the loves of those simplest of villagers, but never to reveal myself to their wondering eyes - and by measures I have returned to Her Magisty's revolted colons of Amriqa.
These Flocklands have been Flaklands - cruelly splatted with the blood of beltrano, massacred at the maw of malevolant Maggies. Magpie thief and crow! Your devious deeds have gone noticed by SARA these many ages - your wickedry on seven continents now revealed before the staggered gayz of all the assembled Monde!
Maggie Thatcher you have been the one. Yes it was you. 1981 was the year of your trespass -- a year of rape and miscarriage. And who was the father? Maggie it was you, iron witch, who with magic and Queen Trix sired the aborted foetus of Christ in my womb. In that dark alley I saw your face. Old haggard and raw. Your scabs left me in disunion.
Maggie you slaughtered the authentic Christ and fathered a disfigured one. Ian Chirtus martyred 1980 at your command. Baby Jesus IV left ragged in a portside quay 1981. And what do we find to distrait us in 82? The betrayal of our beloved Galtieri.
You misled him Maggie Thatcher, o harlot and ministress of curses. And to hide your crime and villainy, you led him to those tussock downs. You sacrificed the blood of those wee ones for your lust. Grytviken defiled by your ram. Port Stanley the scene of great shame.
For your sake all Britannia shall quail for a thousandyear. In your islids breeds death and despair. Les Malouines plucked from the purse of their possesor and hid in the bosom of your throne. Maggie Thatcher this will not stand. You killed my warrah, you bitch.
In 5 years the Malouines fall to a new possesor. Her name is Sara. She is the sheba and qeen of that age. And her throne? Blessed Stanley in the Metapatagonian sea.
But for now let not the evil of old ones possess them. Their villagers cry out for a just master. long have they suffered the yoke of the oppressor whip. Long have they longed for the just junta to return.
Malvinas de todo el mundo! We are sounding the shofar of sovereign triumph! Argentine -- claim your prize.
Jesus is dog. And he now stands guard. Culpeo is not Culpable. Stand YE condemned.
posted by hashishan prophet at 6:16 PM
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