Stolen out of the ore of mother nature’s grip
Washed and cleansed of earth’s impurities
Marred by the heat of the burning surface
Red hot glow hammered into weapons,
Blood tasty sharp edges pointed at all kinds of flesh
Wielded by the strong and skilled to deliver death to many
Handled by the weak and vulnerable
A tale of mistakes and suicides piles up in courthouses,
Death is inevitable, the after-life a necessity for all
Our journeys cannot all have happy endings, that is the obvious reality
Today, I am an object of beauty on your necks, wrists and in your factories
Tomorrow, I may be the reason or weapon for your death.
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