Cogs turn, set steel alive, screws fly across my mind.
Hard cold heart lit up by match and oil, making a moving madness of this machine.
One directive. Chop.
Chop chop chop.
Until there's no more fireword.
My arms make jittery Mechanical movements, swing an attached axe aimlessly.
Crash, slash, chop. Splash.
Sap stains my hollow steel skin, red and the silver shining in golden sunshine.
Chop, splash, chop, splash.
Copper stench lingers around the grip of the harrowing hatchet.
Oil runs out and my arm stops its cutting, coming to a screech.
Silence.
Scream.
Oh god what have I done...
