IV. Hark! We welcome the inversion of hitherto giants!

Cruel beasts, chattering teeth, The blot of filth relentlessly twisting. The sun will never return here, Lest we seize it for ourselves. Centuries spent in blindness, The maggots grown within our minds, The lords of putrescence atop a throne of blood Will be baptized in scarlet blossoms. Burn away this vile stench. Drink deep of the ichor, Eat the viscera fruit of gods. Receive its blessing, Repurpose what was claimed. Hark! O, disquietened hounds of death! O, ye who would desecrate our mothers' graves! We pursue the seizure of our means of survival! We welcome the inversion of hitherto giants!