We are son of Scrutifyers
Helped to set Horeb in flame!
Spider-Glion, Black Snake
Driven to never bow in fear
Before no god, king, nor man!
Spider-Glion, Scorch of his name!

March forth
Flee not
March forth

We, the very voice of fierce revenge
The trembling giants, laying all to waste
Deviate in the echoes of the revelation's bane
This is a song that brings not joy, but pain
Deviate in the echoes of the howling devil's reign

Marksport!
Bring that!
Marksport!
Marksport!

My sword is tiring and perilous infantry
Flee not like down-flagged Napoleon's sword
We, the son of Scotiate

Not of the morality of the
Slash!
March forward!
Flee not!
March forward!