The Battle of Britain I

As aspiration seeks to take its toll, your mass flotilla salvaged sons of war. ‘Twas but a feat the angels will extol though Satan’s army rallies at your door. Your youthful fit have vowed to serve the Crown. They muster arms to keep his wolves at bay. Your British proud must hold this hallowed ground for nothing but the Channel bars his way. But first the beast must dominate the air and thus, a war for Heaven shall he wage. So, send your sons where only angels dare and pray they rise to front the devil’s rage. His hand to win the Heavens has been played. The impetus shall threaten all surveyed. The impetus shall threaten all surveyed while Europe’s light fades slowly from the Earth. The darkness grows to feed his vile crusade as desperation amplifies his girth. His tyranny encapsulates the realm. His manifesto prophesized the quest. For most, his swift assault would seize their helm but patience would be key to seize the rest. And now this beast is standing at your door. He smells your fear, he hears your pounding heart. Your fortitude must reckon at your shore and any thoughts of failure must depart. Pray dear England, for Hell awaits your soul. If you relent, this demon takes control. If you relent, this demon takes control and all the world shall drift into the night. Oh, dear England, as Satan seeks your soul, your sovereignty must ready for this fight. Prepare in mass for skies shall fill with fire as birds of steel seek out the Crowning prey. Lend not to fear when days grow ever dire but let a voice of reason guide the way. For fear is but a percolating skill that grips your mind and petrifies your heart. So, dare not yield nor bend to Satan’s will, for if you do, this world shall come apart. The fervor of his wrath shall be displayed unleashing his intent through Hell’s crusade. Unleashing his intent through Hell’s crusade, the Channel skies were first to feel his wrath. From port to bow, each ship that rendered aid was christened as they trekked Gibraltar’s path. His flying wolves instilled the Dover skies in search of lambs to feed his hungry pack. ‘Twas but a ploy to lure them to demise as Hell’s Luftwaffe waited to attack. But such a taunt would beckon no retreat nor meek capitulation dare condone. Your English soil will never bear defeat if wings of Britain swear to hold their own. For now, the devil’s angels tend the reins as ruthless raids molest the Channel lanes. As ruthless raids molest the Channel lanes your hapless ships fall victim to the foe. His wings of wraith spit venom from their veins until their riddled hulls would sink below. They pummeled fields where allied sons aligned to stall the tide and front his birds of prey, but nay a soaring Spitfire dared resign for they were all that kept his wolves at bay. And, though your gates were battered o’er and o‘er, ‘twas but a blister on the British fist, for no brigades could storm your Channel shore while English pride continued to resist. Though Satan’s rage set free his birds on high, a pulsing motive met them in the sky.