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 dead 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