It's Out Of Our Hands

I remember the day, when they came to our door,
We`d given our all, but they still wanted more,
Of course they were scared, and some ran away,
It`s what I would have done, but I had to stay.

For down in the Old Town, where nobody goes,
Is an old man who lives there, whom nobody knows,
An intelligent man, but distorted with rage,
And his old mind`s unstable, affected by age.

He worked in his lab, from day until night,
And still he continued to work without light,
With spells and with curses passes down via hand,
This dangerous old fool invented a man.

“May the first man who harms him turn into stone,
I`ll make wine of his blood, and flour of his bones,
I`ll burn him and melt him and send him to Hell,
To stand next to Satan, and toll the Death Bell.”

The man had the power, of that we were sure,
Sent here to damn us, and damn us some more,
And we couldn`t stop him, though God knows we tried,
All of our best men attempted, but died.

So then we were pleading, desperate to win,
Like a blessing from heaven, someone sent Him,
An average young man, with an average young face,
But if one thing`s for sure, then war was his place.

“Now it`s out of our hands, it`s all up to you,
It`s out of our hands, the rest`s up to you.”

So he turned on his heels and walked through the rain,
We don`t know what happened, we saw neither again!