Blacksmith blacksmith, make me a sword,
Make me a sword of spite.
Blow the bellows, fire the forge,
Turn the metal until it glows,
And I will add my soul to the flames,
My own fire shall stoke the coals.
Hammer the blade on an anvil of hate,
And quench it in my loathing.
Sharpen the edge on a whetstone of rage,
Feel the prickling sparks of my fury.
Polish the metal with cold revenge,
Shine the steel with sour strokes,
And bind the hilt with bitterness.
Let nightmares glint on its razor edge,
This instrument of black, dark death.
One stroke is all I need from it,
One swinging blow to end my pain.
One life to give, and one to take,
And the silent struggle ends.
I had everything, but I wanted more.
Perfection slipped away by degrees -
I didn't see, didn't notice, didn't care,
And then all, all was gone.
No pity for me, no favours.
My path is clear now -
The sword.
A broken blade can be reforged,
But a broken life cannot.
One life to give, and one to take....
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