| remember how it all began the apple and the fall of man the price we paid so the people say down a path of shame it led us dared to bite the hand that fed us the fairy tale the moral end the wheel of fortune never turns again the worst of it has come and gone in the chaos of millennium in the falling out of the doomsday crowd their last retreat is moving slow they burn their bridges as they go the heretic is beatified he'll teach the harlot's child to smile |
wracked again by indecision should we make that small incision testify to the bleeding heart inside? we cut, we scratched we rent, we slashed and when he opened up at last found a cul-de-sac deep and black of smoke and ash the wicked king of parody is kissing all his enemies on the seventh day of the seventh week the tyrant's voice is softer now but just for one forgiving hour before the rise of his iron fist again |
