All you cursed nomadic souls unjustly damned to roam the earth for eternity,
focus all your bitterness and rage unto my silent song of sorrow.  May your
weary feet receive momentary rest as you help me bind and fulfill this
sacred curse upon Blythe.  May that wretched city find itself in isolation,
so far away from civilization that it finds itself many years behind in
technology and culture.  May its population be enslaved by undeserving
wanderers whose only memories of Blythe involve sustenance, fuel, and
relieving themselves upon its god-forsaken ground.  May it be the gathering
place of the worst in every race, religion, and culture.  May it forever be
despised, visited begrudgingly, and left behind gladly.  O wise nomadic
souls, make true this sacred curse.  Oh wait…nevermind.