The sheep are all alone, like disciples
Waiting to be led into a shallow grave
United in tragedy

Their mouths gasp the pollution
Inhaling the concept of a new tyrant
Masses fan her campaign into flames

Hell is not around the corner
It's already here in me
She paints the cicatrice beige

To conceal her wretched design
Flesh decides
Imparting closure to all

She paints
The cicatrice beige
Words won't fail as her elusive speech

Reaches yet another pair of deaf ears
Sentences bear no relevance
But the mortal eyes witness a sight

Too exquisite to watch as she speaks
The Architect
Inhaling the concept of a new tyrant

Masses fan her campaign into flames
Hell is not around the corner
It's already here

She paints
The cicatrice beige