Comedies play in your head, but how quickly the turn to
tragedies. Show the world pain and you'll move down the
line. Feed a child and you'll be insane, kill a stranger and
you'll be a god. Reach out to Sin & you know this is it.
You've come to destroy. The tribe is parading on the palm of
your hand. Let them dance, or make a fist to feel the warmth
run through your fingers? Hope burns in the pit of your
stomach like acid, drink the madness to wash it away.
Quickly, before your memories begin to fade and you
conscience takes over. The audience is grinning, your head
is still spinning. Reach out to Sin & you know this is it.
Through these strange hours you sit on your throne. The
choice is yours & yours alone. It's ever so clear, its tight
in your hands, does anything but repose & expand. No one
will understand, my mind is receding. Its never so easy when
the strangers are here, but the audience waits anxious &
eager. Wash it all down with madness. Reach out to Sin & you
know this is it.
As he walks down the line you can feel its presence, this
is it. Strangers dance on the street, blood flowing freely
at their feet. Giving praise to the kings valedictory, why
he did it will remain a mystery. Why did the king slaughter
his own peoples? He reached out to Sin, & he knew this was
it.