To the rivals I've defeated,
I send forward my apologies.
To the new ones that I've made,
I'm already writing your elegies.
Because I know, as always,
I'm going to be the winner,
even if I have to take
the forbidden road of the sinner.
My blade's in my hand,
your blood's on my tongue,
and you're about to make
my count go one higher.
But I still wouldn't back down
if I was in your place,
'cause to fight me, you gotta be proud
to spill your blood on my face.
For you it's grim and dark;
you're going to die today.
So die with pride and salute.
Pres? Aller!
