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...