I rarely hear the Trumpets now
The singing bellows of quelling sound
Which tame the Beast, I fear inside
His hypnotic trance, is a Demon's cry

I cannot see the Painter's wrath
Brushstrokes raging down forbidden path
Long forgotten, but forever known
His sinister smile breaks day when shown

I know not the Cinder's smell
The Kindling Madness of an ancient spell
Ash inhaled of perfect ruin,
His incantation of evil is brewing

I dare not taste the Wicked's Cuisine
Dark nectars twist the tongue of Fiends
Bellies full of Nightmare's tears
His fruition comes through pain and jeers

I reach to touch the Devil's Hand
Three of a kind and a master plan
To call the bluff or submit and fold
His reign begins, free will already sold