The king and queens in golden towers
Men of God, children of demons
Beggars and threadbare pariahs
United under the lure of one poison

Nearer to death at every breath,
And yet we work each day
To by night play a twisted game,
And dissolve what years had built.

Awaken from the cure in a shroud of errors
In sickness, yet the torment of past remains.
No ease, but one less night to live.
So look to the future and the poison again
Hair of the beast that plagues us

Destroy memories of pain with
Warped euphoria ever forgotten
And when we come to our end
All that remains is sickness.