The die is cast, your ferry waits,
Genuflect, your match is met,
Like Charlemagne come to say the grace,
With Saxony to be razed: I haven't come to stay.

Conquerors lay before my turned thumb,
If I say pallbearers will march you off this earth:
It is done.

Mark me, a sign of the end comes,
There will be no threnody,
No four horsemen riding out,
Just an unfurling of my black flag.