The Iron Fist
Machines of war, that's what they are,
The architects of our fate.
They're made to fight, they're made to kill,
Their core emotion hate.
...
They track us down, don't let us flee,
Upon sight we run.
But in our hearts we know it's pointless,
That they've already won.
...
Yet sometimes in the midst of chaos,
The orbs, they do refrain.
It's as if the conquest of this planet,
Was no more than a game.
...
"It's you or me", these are our words,
When running for our lives.
Unfortunately it's a recurring statement,
When the orbs take to the skies.
...
I want to cry, I want to scream,
For salvation but there's none.
Freedom fighters, words of hope,
It's all been said and done.
...
We work in factories, we mine for ore,
Whatever our lord prefers.
His preparations for his new empire,
From these he never errs.
...
The toclafane, they have no morals,
No sense of wrong or right.
They slice and blaze across the sky,
The wards of darkest night.
...
Those who declare that they'll not yield,
Simply lose their lives.
Those who do are left forgotten,
Absorbed by the metal hive.
...
Some despise those who've lost hope,
Who resist the orbs no more.
But I've come to accept the fact,
That we can't settle the score.
...
Some still pray and some still sing,
But we know that we're alone.
We simply work, we simply layer,
Stone upon each stone.
...
Now I wait for it to end,
To be free of devil spawn.
For it has become fully clear,
That there will be no dawn.