Not my words of course but the words of bequiffed, vegetarian miserabalist Morrissey, who crooned the words on his bequiffed, vegetarian miserabalist 1984 song ‘Suffer Little Children’, a charming little ditty about the Moors Murders.

In one little body Thou counterfeit’st a bark, a sea, a wind; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body.

Those killed fighting his troops would be buried in pigskins.

Why don't you just go ahead and lay out fer me what the hell I've got to do on a little shirttail piece of land like this?