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This masquerade is a massacre. Another stained-glass serenade. These halos hang |
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over our heads like vultures circle their prey. Your hands are washed white but |
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your eyes are the darkest I've seen. Your hands are washed white. Foul deeds |
|
will rise like ghosts of gods through the steeples. Foul deeds will rise like |
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smoke and soot from the stacks. Foul deeds will rise. Heracy fills our lungs as |
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we breath it. Foul deeds will rise like the incense that burns. You're running |
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this race, but you've been running the wrong way. Dark shepherds have led their |
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sheep astray. They demonize, rationalize, for what? For who? Foul deeds will |
|
rise like ghosts of gods through the steeples. Foul deeds will rise like smoke |
|
and soot from the stacks. Foul deeds will rise. Heracy fills our lungs as we |
|
breath it. Foul deeds will rise like the incense that burns. Call the choir to |
|
light the pyre. Call the choir to light the fires. Your hands are washed white |
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but your eyes are the darkest I've seen. Your hands are washed white but this |
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place smells of deceit. This burning fire will never be enough to quench your |
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blood-lust. |
