StxSwanson

Twenty-one centimeters of tactical terror Bringing dignity back to death. For there lies no honor in lead, No glory found in a gunstock. The bullet simply passes through like hot-blooded vagabond; There is no lasting relationship. You can divorce a bullet. But I, I am a thorn Eternally embedded in your side; A splinter under your fingernail; An inebriated party guest who just won't hit the trail. My methods are personal, And I like it that way. Centuries of warfare made way for the potent perfection That is my blade, so sharp, so unforgiving As it parts the flesh Like butter. But here, here there's no such thing as a hot knif