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In the world's dim past

On an anvil, the first would be forged

And in its life

Many a man would be torn

From a tome came instructions clear

For steel to take a shape

99 of its pages damned

But once in hand, feel its weight

Instrument of destruction

Under fire and brimstone, its figure roars

The arm of slaughter, given to war

First of a legacy, put to the sword

In a moment

Its frame bears the mark of the trade

Time of misfortune

Its blade would be broken in twain

Forged on the altar

White-hot, its pieces are made

Fused back together

And prepare to rise once again

Grasped tight in defiance

And sharper than ever before

The end in violence

Metal will stand evermore

Instrument of destruction

Under fire and brimstone, its figure roars

The arm of slaughter, given to war

First of a legacy, put to the sword

The blade of metal will stand for evermore