Phobos and Deimos

May Deimos rise and rage against the host,
With Phobos bring to naught their every boast;
The Dread of battle fill the coward’s heart,
Till Fear cause him to rend his friends apart.
The victims of his sons shall Ares mock,
As slaves and weaklings of unworthy stock.
The man that flees, the same shall be cut down,
And in his blood he’ll wallow, choke, and drown.
As Dionysus loves the taste of wine,
On blood shall Fear and Dread delight to dine.
Where law to chaos leaves its place and yields,
There Ares’ sons shall sow their fruitful fields.
The dead shall lie for birds of prey to eat,
When all the foes shall lie down in defeat.
The house of Hades shall be duly filled,
When men by savage butchery have spilled
The blood of those whom Terror seized with fright,
Who were hewn down in Ares’ dreadful sight.

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