aA'S FUCKING WITH YOU, KID, MAKING IT SOUND LIKE YOU'RE WINNING SOME REAL BULLSHIT. BUT IT'S FUCKING GREAt.
eVERYONE ELSE HAS GOT TO FUCKING SCRAP AND SCRAPE TO GET PAST THE CULLING VERDICTS. ANY TINY THING IS GOING TO GET YOUR THROAT SLIT AND YOUR BONES GROUND FOR MIRACLES. FLATSCAN BITCHES CAN DO NOTHING BUT FLINCH AND COWER, BECAUSE IF THE EMPIRE'S EYE LINGERS ON THEM, THEY ARE FUCKING DEAD.
dOESN'T MATTER YOUR CASTE. DOESN'T MATTER YOUR CREED. THOSE WHO STAND HIGH ARE THE FIRST TO FUCKING FALL.
bUT IF YOU'RE A PSIONIC, THERE IS NO SHIT YOU CAN STIR THAT THE EMPIRE WILL NOT FUCKING FORGIVE. IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT TREASON YOU SPEW FROM YOUR LIPS, BECAUSE THEY WILL SCRUB THE BLASPHEMY FROM YOUR PAN, GIRD YOUR FLESHMEAT IN METAL AND SEND YOU TO THE FUCKING STARs.
iN SPACE, EVERY FUCKER IS ROTTING MEAT, WAITING FOR THE NIGHT THEY'LL DIE. EXCEPT FOR US. OUR SKIN WILL BE STEEL. OUR PANS WILL BE WIRE. THE BLOOD IN OUR VEINS WILL CONNECT US TO EVERY INCH AND MILE OF THE SHIP WE PILOT, AND OUR PUMPBISCUIT WILL FUEL THE ENGINES OF OUR EMPIRe.
wHO ELSE GETS THAT CHANCE TO SERVE? WHO ELSE CAN SAY THEIR PURPOSE HAS BEEN SET, FROM THE TIME THEY TAKE THEIR FIRST STEPS FROM THE CAVERNS? THE OTHERS ARE TELLING YOU SOME WICKED LIES, BECAUSE WE ARE FUCKING BLESSEd.
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eVERYONE ELSE HAS GOT TO FUCKING SCRAP AND SCRAPE TO GET PAST THE CULLING VERDICTS. ANY TINY THING IS GOING TO GET YOUR THROAT SLIT AND YOUR BONES GROUND FOR MIRACLES. FLATSCAN BITCHES CAN DO NOTHING BUT FLINCH AND COWER, BECAUSE IF THE EMPIRE'S EYE LINGERS ON THEM, THEY ARE FUCKING DEAD.
dOESN'T MATTER YOUR CASTE. DOESN'T MATTER YOUR CREED. THOSE WHO STAND HIGH ARE THE FIRST TO FUCKING FALL.
bUT IF YOU'RE A PSIONIC, THERE IS NO SHIT YOU CAN STIR THAT THE EMPIRE WILL NOT FUCKING FORGIVE. IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT TREASON YOU SPEW FROM YOUR LIPS, BECAUSE THEY WILL SCRUB THE BLASPHEMY FROM YOUR PAN, GIRD YOUR FLESHMEAT IN METAL AND SEND YOU TO THE FUCKING STARs.
iN SPACE, EVERY FUCKER IS ROTTING MEAT, WAITING FOR THE NIGHT THEY'LL DIE. EXCEPT FOR US. OUR SKIN WILL BE STEEL. OUR PANS WILL BE WIRE. THE BLOOD IN OUR VEINS WILL CONNECT US TO EVERY INCH AND MILE OF THE SHIP WE PILOT, AND OUR PUMPBISCUIT WILL FUEL THE ENGINES OF OUR EMPIRe.
wHO ELSE GETS THAT CHANCE TO SERVE? WHO ELSE CAN SAY THEIR PURPOSE HAS BEEN SET, FROM THE TIME THEY TAKE THEIR FIRST STEPS FROM THE CAVERNS? THE OTHERS ARE TELLING YOU SOME WICKED LIES, BECAUSE WE ARE FUCKING BLESSEd.