Elitism, it's not bad, per se.

Look at them all, so willing,
So indifferent towards doom,
Take my place on the killing fields.

The fields of death,
Where unthinkable perils await,
Blood flows like a vicious tide.

These strangers fight for me,
Not with me, not against me,
For me.
They are mine.

Yours?

Mine. Blood that breaks and blood that binds.

Unite us now and we will be divine.

Take my left side, my strong side,
But still my weaker one.
For I am Sagramore.

Crack it, split it, cleave them in two,
So willing to take a crippling blow,
They stride and they leap in your defense.

Is it wrong?

It is not my concern-

But they die for just cause-

Aye, for your life-

Nay, for my amusement-

They are your toys-

My friends-

Your play-things-

My allies-

Our Guardians.

Life is easier figured this way-

We must exist-

I have a higher purpose-

We've come so far-

Statistics rue your existence-

Our existence-

My success.

They are weak,

I am strong,

Together we are perfect.
So comes and goes the eve of man,
Seeking recognition,
But we need none,
For our name goes,
Where no one knows,
And words have no rendition.

I'll be their leader,
One with an agenda,
And I'll be the best there was.

They'll see it coming,
And yet if they oppose you,
Then they are the evil ones.

Perfect.