The source of which is my desire. It has seen war, it knows of peace, It chopped heads, it burned grease, And it executed swift death, For some it's curse, for others bless. It has severed diseased limbs, It has exposed others’ sins, It was a torch for ones in dark, Cut out exit to those stuck. It settled disputes in the world, It used to touch the right heart's chord, Its clang alone can make heart brave, And it is lost for those who rave. It is engulfed in the flame And thus can make its wielder lame, It brings uncommon sort of fame Which clears heart and grants no shame. Yes, I can feel its heat in hands ... This blade has traveled many lands And many battles it has seen, Those armed with it destined to win. It's a reflection of a Word, Which always touches rightist chord And purifies its victim's heart ... Eternal justice, friend and guard.

Он внутри

He is inside, and he is within, He is enslaved and cannot be seen, He is alive, and yet he is dead, He is a joy, but now he is sad. You've searched beyond for millennia years, You've praised his name in your salty blood tears - And thus he became the punishment tool, And you have become a ritual fool. But still you all hope to see him one day And listen to what this one has to say… He might and he would, he did and he does,