there's an astral anvil
and an ethereal hammer
raw unformed physical chaos in between
and the cold steel kid
forging a killing machine

in the blazing fire of its gaze
flames are dancing
in predefined rituals
which are partially about
mocking their own creator

burning bolts scatter in fear
but are called back
to accept their fate
and thrown into the destruction
every single spark forgiven

the heat is scorching
and muscles are tearing
one by one they break
for the cold steel kid
and the futile thing he wants to make