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)
Blessed they are by God's tokens

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 falls only human

Kings of our emptiness, the flagellants align
Their mouths fill with ashes and death's tongue

And plague colours (The dappled dying, flowering cold grey tombs)
A masterpiece of pain (With crumbling walls, I feel)
The portrait of what we are (Our truth is laid bare)