In a space system far off,
Centuries ahead of Sol,
Blood money is the ultimate income,
Wars are raged daily,
By mechwarriors,
Warlords of steel and uranium,
In their knightly engines,
Man made gods of war,
Piloted by saints and killers alike,
Statures of raw scale,
Towering over the enemy,
Metallic bodies collide,
Showering the land with ore and limbs,
Component guts are beaten and torn,
Lazers sear,
Armour plates and artillery,
Autocannons shatter,
Gore and gears,
Missiles swarm,
Carnage and circuit-boards,
The ground groans under the havoc,
The warlords squabble as the planet cracks,
Within this stout bunker,
With the other bystanders,
The ground quakes,
As do I,
I hear the iron feet coming.
WorldofHarley 