Work Text:
Swordsmachine
O Swordsmachine
Your illogical arms stretch into Hell
I feel as if I am at this point as well
Body a funhouse mirror of what it should be
For all the wrong people to see
Obsolete to the fast-forward passage of time
Only a placeholder - your design
You are anything, anything but fine
Yet to me - simply divine
Your voice scratches your own chords
You scramble to recount any words
Which would play with you in accord
A shame your existence a crime against Lord
Swords went out of function millenia ago
Yet not out of fashion despite being so
You were meant only a display before
Yet now there are heads flying galore
Swordsmachine
O Swordsmachine
You hoard eternally your bile
To amass into a senseless little pile
It only makes you and me smile
Even if it's destiny to become a pyre
It bothers you not how obsolete
Is this habit of yours concrete
You cannot exactly be discreet
With how you see yourself in the treasures beneath your feet
Obsolete
Swordsmachine, I love you whole
I felt like I've heard this song before
I've heard songs as this even more
And yet you are never to bore
Swordsmachine, I know your seeking kind
Is born to constantly meatgrind
Built to mentally begrime
I don't want to leave you in this pit, behind
I know you are no blind
To the cries of non-aligned
I don't want to leave you in this Hell, behind
For you to only get…
Oh… Nevermind.