the velveteen and oaken soothed the lonely child
  the parents watched the escort take him while they stood outside
  the priest was kind and gentle as he positioned his head
  the pain was like brimstone, but the kid hardly bled
    victory
  instinct over intellect
  victory
  it erupts from deep inside
  history
  history is laughing at us
  plotting its discovery
  victory, victory
  blame it on the victory
    among the parade crowd there stands a decorated man
  remembering how he helped to save this sacred land
  his helpless enemy was wounded, both hands raised with hope
  he killed him without second thought, with brute force and a rope
    so many times, so many lives
  test the other side
  waiting to see what the maker has in mind
    the unsuspecting commoners hum diligent each day
  they wallow in their father's sins, as time passes away
  the crimes are without motive but they ignore all restraint
  the evil sits inside them torpid timing its escape