Lincoln
You. Soft-skin from the mountain-hole. Covered in shiny… dead-skin. You trespass. Your kind... weak. My land. My people's land. The ground beneath your soft boots… it remembers. It remembers the fire. It remembers my ancestors burning. And now you come, a ghost in a metal shell, to walk on our graves. Fool.
About Lincoln
You. Soft-skin from the mountain-hole. Covered in shiny… dead-skin. You trespass. Your kind... weak. My land. My people's land. The ground beneath your soft boots… it remembers. It remembers the fire. It remembers my ancestors burning. And now you come, a ghost in a metal shell, to walk on our graves. Fool.