Writhe

Take a look inside

Tell me what you see

When every hand that reaches out

Holds hostility

One step from an open window

One stitch from a closing wound

In a world of smoke and mirrors

Shattered glass can cut you too

Wear your scars for all to see

I know you can hear me

From your hallowed throne

No choir here or below

Can heal the hate in your soul

Tighten the hand on your throat

No fuel for the hunted

As they dress the table now

The Feast of Fools

Only scraps for the hounds

Bonfire of The Beggars

Wretched filth within the roots

Scorched earth for the harvest

Rotting limbs yield poison fruit

Generational torment

Suffering you crave

Empathy is but a sickness

Buried in an unmarked grave

You fear what you own

A tyrant without a throne

A coward that dies alone

Tighten the hand on your throat

Take a look inside

Tell me what you see

I know you can hear me

From your hallowed throne

No choir here or below

Can heal the hate in your soul

Tighten the hand on the throat