Kings of our emptiness, the flagellants align

Their mouths fill with questions, blessed they are by God's tokens



Ware to walk the painted... the painted path



Walking the painted path through our plague fields



Ware to walk the painted path

Through the plague fields



Kings of this carousel, disfigured upon white horses

With Goya's claws and Dore's wings

Down golden locks to red crosses

Crowned children screaming from funeral shrouds

To rapid eye movement, heart-strings undone

... our beautiful filth dances... and plague flowers



Why our wall to reason fall... only human



Kings of our emptiness, the flagellants align

Their mouths fill with ashes and death's tongue



The dappled dying

Flowering cold grey tombs

With crumbling walls... I feel

Our truth is laid bare



... And plague colours

A masterpiece of pain

The portrait of what we are...