by Nick Gisburne
They shall not strip the metals from our lands
We work as one to drive the humans back
Electron chambers bubble in our hands
Each weapon primed and focused for attack
Invaders come to trick us with their lies
And thus they are deserving of their fate
For when their ships fall, burning, from the skies
Who then will call their ashes ‘grand’ or ‘great’?
Behold the Chosen, warrior machines
We serve the Storm of Nations as a shield
With honour we defend the proton screens
No robot in our ranks will ever yield
Let all the fifteen planets fight with pride
The access to our system is denied
