Blades of steel,
Heart of stone,
Leaded with wood,
Cut to the bone,
Let loose this curse,
With edge so sharp,
And cut free the Grim,
Who plays the harp.
This harp is black,
One of death,
With rotted wood,
It's worse than meth,
Yet he plays,
His dreadful games,
Slash by slash,
Across the plains.
Contagious it is,
This one so vile,
He runs with fire,
Over many mile,
Though one can cheat,
His awful way,
And shine on through,
Like rays of day.
Rain washes more
than the street,
Let free the dark,
Wash it with sleet.
Cleans from the heart,
Rinse off my sins,
Sing true once more,
As no one wins.
