What hand can toil this tear-soaked ground?
This earth awash with blood.
What strand of fate our peace unwound?
Now, all I know is war.
It shan't be bent, in truce, my blade.
Unquiet lay our dead.
Our mothers rent, our children flayed.
Now, all I have is war.
These wounds I bear, pray, never mend.
My hurts may never cease.
My name forswear, my doom prehend--
Now, all I am is war.
So gird me with your vengeful hate;
Anoint me with your pain.
Bestow on me your lust for ruin.
Now, all you know is war.
