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 [bad word] walls... I feel
 Our [bad word] is laid bare

 ... And plague colours
 masterpiece of pain
 The portrait of what we are...