put grinder to the blades
put wrench to the belt 
stand tall astride my steed
won't stop 'til vengeance is dealt

my enemies stand proud 
made strong by weeks of rain
soon they will find their lives
cut short in green mists of pain

my blades they chop and chew...
matted with sticky grue…

chop, scissor, hack and saw
whatever does the trick
i lead the charge inside
to strike my blow deep in the thick

i like to lay them low
cut through and left to die
but when that doesn’t work -
pour the poison; they slowly die

through privet hedge i hew...
machete striking true ...

i found your army base
dove in and rained some death
i wait, watch patiently
while millions draw their last breath

i know there’s always more 
the war is never won
a martyr for my cause
may fall, but i’ll never run

my blistered flesh will heal...
but no remorse I’ll feel...