A Temperamental Widower

We're not going backwards,
We're just killing onward to die
Put that knife away
My first thought, a dragon
The two contending marches
Put that knife away
She'll sting you to death like a swarm of hornets from the hive
Sign my name to press hard, there are three copies
You'll put me in the grave
In the grave
We're not going backwards, we're just killing onward to die
Put that knife away
Making progress...that of a dead man
Constant last words
The last word