The cold hard fury of the Lord,
a judgment I have long adored.
This grip of judgment I possess,
helps relieve my Lord’s distress.
Straight and true, with endless hunger,
does this blade tear lives asunder.
A message wrought of cold, hard steel,
‘twas made by men who do not feel.
A gift of life to help spread death,
a cross to bear man’s faint last breath.
This thing no more a pure extension,
of my Lord’s red intervention.
Now upon this hill I stand,
the Lord’s bright sword held tight in hand.
Given task and duty-bound,
I hear the screams of earth all ‘round.
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