Lords

I am the loathed weapon of the lords a'leaping,
Unspoken in their halls but the means to which they are reaping
And raping the land in the name of their deserved rewards
To keep the wine and gold flowing with their deserved w****s
Even though in the end they have me putting lambs to slaughter
History will repeat in the eyes of their sons and daughters

Good and evil are concepts best left to man
Their gods never intended for these dramatic last stands
Might determined right in the heavens, though they hide
That even the purest of saints had their little white lies
And so even if the war comes down to two sides
I will remain the sword and shield, as well as the children's cries

The priests make their sacrifices, while all make their prayers
But the farmer should be more concerned with his land and mares
Though on their knees they feel absolved and proud
It will not grow the food, or protect from the evil abound
So if they must pray to someone who will save their body, rather than soul
Then they should pray to me, the weapon, silver and cold