[Intro] [Sound of a pencil scratching on paper, once. A long pause.] [Deep, pulsing sub-bass enters, mimicking a slow heartbeat.] [Whispered:] Four walls. Four corners. Four graves. [Verse 1] Found the Bishop in his borrowed robes, swinging from a bell rope The mirror that I left for him had taken all his hope His eyes were bulging, purpled skin, a rosary in hand He couldn't face his own reflection, couldn't understand [Whispered:] One less liar in the land. [Pre-Chorus] They say the war is over, but the static in my head Plays back the audio of all the pretty things now dead A ghost in borrowed daylight, until the last is done And then... and then... I still don't feel the sun. [Chorus] I got a list of four, written down in blood and ash Each one's a lock I gotta break, a body I gotta crash They made a monster, gave her scars, and then they set her free Too bad for them the monster... is me [Sub-bass drop with a wet, tearing sound effect] [Verse 2] The Magistrate in line for bread, heard the rumors that I spun The mob was quick to serve the sentence, for everything he'd done They used their hands and broken glass, I heard it from the street The sound of bones, a gurgling plea, a justice bittersweet [Whispered:] Two down, tastes like bloody meat. [Pre-Chorus] They say the war is over, but the static in my head Plays back the audio of all the pretty things now dead A ghost in borrowed daylight, until the last is done And then... and then... I still don't feel the sun. [Chorus] I got a list of four, written down in blood and ash Each one's a lock I gotta break, a body I gotta crash They made a monster, gave her scars, and then they set her free Too bad for them the monster... is me [Sub-bass drop] [Bridge] Sometimes at night, I sharpen steel, the dagger from my boot And trace the lines on my own skin, from a contaminated root Am I still in that villa, just in a bigger room? This justice doesn't feel like light, it just feels like the tomb. [Verse 3] The Duke is next, his pretty things, his brandy and his art I've got a scalpel in my coat to take his world apart Then the President, the final one, who sat and watched the show It's his turn to be the star... and the credits are going to roll. [Outro] [The sub-bass heartbeat slows down.] [Sound of a pencil scratching, three times, decisively.] Too bad for them... [Whispered:] The monster... gets to feed. [The heartbeat and all sound cuts to silence.]`
