The Fall of Greatness A Rise of Treason
The triumphant hue in the man of great fortitude
Deserves the utmost of solicitude to reap the benefits of gratitude.

Not by blood, but by soul; Elsinore hath been blessed with a conquistador.

This chaotic eve is accented by shallow sounds that deceive;
Silence, the primordial secret that hath given this kingdom guidance,

Is bestowed by the defiance of life by Lord Polonius the man so righteous.

O such a great soul indeed, hath been vanquished by the thorn that caused thy bosom to bleed.

Let us not weep for the deceased whom hath fallen asleep;
Elsinore, instead we must rise in order to vapourize the parasites that paralyse.

Likely so, our kingdom hath faced sorrow aplenty;
As a battalion of misguidance come rushing intensely;
I promise to grapple thy weapon intently

And destroy thine resistance to bring forth something so deathly.
No one is more miserable than the person who wills everything and can do nothing;
The many pleasures of life are directed by the absolving of barriers that diminish loving.

To each thine own, his consciousness is directed by heaven in which nothing may disappear
from the steps of the immortal throne.

My dear people, Heaven isn't far; However, it is not the final destination known.

Only true satisfaction is achieved through the desire that taints;
To fall in a region belonging not to Heaven nor Hell; Purgatory reigns.

Revenge is all that remains.