The beating, the pounding, the smashing, the grit
I am his tool of work and his object of hate
As he harshly grips the base of my body with his overworked callously hands,

And sends my head racing towards his dreadful anvil,
I released tears as hot as magma itself and screamed out in pain
This constant crash cripples my will and makes me weak

The day he lost his grip I became a powerful imp on a mission

I raced through the air and I panged with joy as I completed my mission and hit his foot
His hiss left me with satisfying grief the swallowed my being

As I laid in that pit feeling a bit unfit,

I think of this dark lonely place
On the brink of lifelessness and the stink of Hephaestus,

and realize this is my home