All you've got: a hammer. Every problem: a nail.
Missing diplomacy tools, no wonder you flail.
Only one tool that you've got, won't look for the rest.
Doubling down, fighting harder, East becomes the West.
No conscience, no morals, to remove them you strive.
Took the sixth, thought it Good. Rebranded it as five.

Obstacles from nothing, to justify bloodlust,
Not helping Creation, just grinding it to dust.
You've chosen means without an end, very obtuse,
When 'the ends justify the means' is your excuse.

"You're getting help from Ashtan, Hashan's helping too!"
But they weren't here before, it's all because of you.
Means found an end for you, not one that you desire,
Though that happens quite a bit, when you play with fire.
But prove me wrong and tell me, what's your grand design?
How do your attacks prevent Creation's decline?

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Lupar, in the year 954 AF.