Oh straight blade, oh straight blade.

Where thou friend of steel, silver, and plated gold.

Art not a time where you're not far from thy hand, close in a tight grip, near by limb of neck.

Oh blade of savior of petty mind, filled with nothing but dark insanity and evil.

That slice of thy steel is a reminder to return, to where a world is hard to understand.

Filled with demonic forest veneers and scorning rear benders.

Oh straight blade, oh straight blade.

Be thy true friend and foe.

For that blood of a distance love one glares upon us, displease of what we doth.

One day, one tick of time, she'll see pass shy breather.

Oh straight blade, little blade of thy, be near and helpful.

For all I need is . . .

For all I need is you blade of sliver.

Despite what others think.

You'll always be my faithful pal to the end, with familiar faces or not.

For that little blade.

Oh straight blade, oh straight blade.

Where would thou be without ye?

Fallen waken into hands of those not needed, who dare wear cloth of white.

Gun down by love ones, cheated away by friendly being, or something unknowing.

Oh straight blade, oh straight blade.

Thank ye for having thy back in dark times of need.

Goodnight, sleep well, and sharpen until anew.