My meaty fingers, sausage like,

were never thus before,

they used to pull the trigger tight

and strum the strings of war…

but now they leaf through pages

that document my past,

and grip the bars of cages,

in history, iron cast…

I built the cell that holds me

there’s no one else to blame,

I did what Masters told me

a pawn within the game…

now younger men are falling

they're marching to the drum,

that beats a tune appalling 

to bring their Kingdom Come.