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
