FORGED IN FIRE AND BATHED IN SALT, A DEATH SWIFT BY BLADE (Intro – screamed) FORGED IN FIRE AND BATHED IN SALT, A DEATH SWIFT BY BLADE! (Verse 1) I step inside the kill radius before the breath finishes leaving their lungs. The first cut transects the brachial plexus at the axillary apex— nerves scream once, then go silent as the arm drops, still twitching. I open the anterior chest wall from the jugular notch straight down the sternum, splitting costal cartilage like wet paper. Ribs flare outward. Lungs collapse inward. I reach past the mediastinum and sever the ascending aorta at its root— arterial spray hits the ceiling in a single, high-pressure arc. I keep cutting. (Chorus – breakdown) I do not duel. I dissect. Every interval is occupied by steel. Every defense is only soft tissue waiting to part. I carve until the skeleton forgets it ever stood. CUTTING THEM DOWN. (Verse 2) When the sword rises I am already inside the radius of the wrist. Radial and ulnar arteries open in the same stroke. I follow the cut up the medial aspect of the arm, peeling deltoid from humerus, disarticulating the shoulder at the glenohumeral joint. The arm leaves the body still gripping the weapon. I drop to the femoral triangle, slice through the inguinal ligament, and sever the femoral artery and vein in one continuous motion. Blood pressure bottoms out. They try to step. I remove the foot at the ankle mortise— talus, tibia, fibula, all separated clean. They fold. (Chorus) I do not duel. I dissect. No recovery is permitted. No second chance is granted. I occupy every angle until nothing remains upright. CUTTING THEM DOWN. (Bridge – spoken / panicked, voice cracking) How many? How many have I opened like this? I can still feel the warm slide of intestine across my knuckles. I can still hear the wet click when a cervical vertebra finally gives. My hands won’t stop shaking. I see their faces when the lights go out. I count the bodies in the dark and the number keeps climbing. I am not a swordsman. I am a walking autopsy. I— I— (Final Chorus – cold, absolute, slow then exploding) …and if you let me loose again I will not stop. I will open every chest. I will empty every cavity. I will take every limb at the joint and leave the ground painted in precise, clinical ruin. I am not broken. I am finished. A cold-blooded killer forged in fire and bathed in salt. One continuous line of cuts until nothing that breathes remains standing. CUTTING THEM DOWN.
