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They read him like an open book |
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But the pages were blank |
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Before he took the first step |
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In a new direction |
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Empty head, imperfection |
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Second step still humble |
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Without eyes the hands fumble |
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Like his feet that wear no skin |
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A naked man, man of sin |
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Three steps that hurt like hell |
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How did he get here |
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And where will he dwell |
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With bloody feet and an empty head |
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Wish he could say |
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What cannot be said |
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As the fourth step was taken |
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Ethics were shaken |
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And the end result: |
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Sanity forsaken |
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No more fumble, no longer humble |
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A cut of precision |
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A part of his mission |
|
The road is blurry |
|
The mission is clear |
|
The bag is heavy |
|
His goal is near |
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With bloody feet and an empty head |
|
Wish he could say |
|
What cannot be said |
|
Final step in the dance of the dead |
|
Last cut, last head |
