But against all armies it has won.
Felled them quickly, it felled them slow; pity- it has none.
No claws to rend or fangs to bite,
it weilds a weapon of far greater might-
forged in times when Earth was young,
a babe still suckling in rays of sun.
No eyes or ears or hands or hooves,
no prayers, no spells, it doesn't lurk in the woods
at night when the good will sleep
and things will creep...
It doesn't know sleep.
it doesn't know you, it doesn't know I,
it doesn't laugh, it doesn't cry...
It knows nothing... it wields impartiality...
The smallest among creation,
the grandsire of death,
countless soldiers, an army of one-
rally, gather, and surge forth upon a breath...
And against all armies it has won.