You two absolute goddamn children.
I get off of work and find both of you gone for what might be the dumbest tiff known to man.
Get back in the goddamn chat and talk to each other like you've got hair on your balls instead of shit in your diapers.
Christ on the goddamn cross
Oh, why must I tell 'em again?
What must I tell 'em, my friend?
That we are born into sin
And we are worshiping murderers
Nothing but evil duplicitous men
I know you heard of 'em all
We should just murder 'em all
We should just murder and ball
We dance on the ruins we looting from all of they palace's walls