The Art Of Disease (Decommission The Flesh) - Far West Battlefront

A king among men is a sight to behold,

But in the end when you get back to basics,

The king is myth, his crown only the surface,

He hides, will not reveal his intention,

Crawls through the mud,

Hold aloft the torch,

Burn the fields to flush out the serpent,

Watch him fall from grace,

Your smile, a gift to another’s misfortune,

Another’s misfortune is something we’re led to believe is worth our time,

My patience wearing thin,

As I await that perfect time to strike,

Your bullshit sentiment for the fox in the trap,

Is the reasoning behind his scheme,

The reason he will kill again,

This god-like sculptured image,

That they all have set in their mind,

Each breath you take is an insult,

I wish everlasting pain upon you,

I will, I’m gonna watch him burn,

Watch him fucking burn,

Watch the worship, sick to the stomach,

Such a falsely glorified monarch,

Turn around, check the shadows,

There’s a wolf and he’s right beside you,

Hungry for your flesh,

My vision, my purpose,

One notion, one goal,

It’s time to vacate the throne,

The king now dead,

He’s laying beneath the ashes,

But when, when you get back to basics,

My dagger doesn’t make a dent,

It does not scratch the surface,

My poison doesn’t even infect,

This germ that I’ve tried to create,

Will not inform the masses,

Long live the king.