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How many times have you made yourself the sacrificial lamb

A pathetic need for attention and praise just to breathe

You are fucking weak

Your existence will be short lived that I guarantee

Despite what is said this world will not end with the meek

I want to watch the color fade from your face

The reaper closes in for a cold embrace

The lights go out as the blade slips in

Into an artery

Whispers sense of death

At the expense of all your sanity

Your vanity is the top priority

Honing my artform with a pair of pliers

Soldering gun and battery wires

Pitiful display of your contrition

And now a martyr of my volition

Within this vale of sin and toil

Souls will fucking burn

This is a procession

A parade of pain

Everyone's a fucking victim