Machines spitting fire,
Commands are unchained from desire,
Hardened by the hammerstrike,
Withstanding all of time with pur
Precision, pace, machine gun fire,
Coldness inbuilt to rule empires,
Hawks of steel with eyes of endless patience,
Modesty, grand key to survival.
Key to survival, heartlessness,
Grand pillar, inhaling the storms of the world.
Machines, trampling down
The narrow path to be wide as a field,
Breaking ice, hellish blaze alike,
Hearts replaced by clockworks,
Never to fail...
No need for enemies,
As long as mind, as flesh is weak...
So shall the needles fuel the demons
To whisper the myth of
A stable existence
Is nowhere near to be found on the shaking blade,
Path over mountain tops,
Luring the sick into hell.
For it is us, walking time upon the silver blade,
The luring stars guide the way on towards doom,
It is up those nights to crown the kings or tke it all,
Bare flesh on poisned steel, intoxication, then the fall.
Once in a while, a bonfire in the distance far,
Never close enough to reach, however worth the leap.
For it is us, walking time upon the silver blade,
The luring stars guide the way on towards doom,
It is up those nights to crown the kings or tke it all
Despairing of a million miles of bloodshed,
hunter, this is your call...