All the things I thought I wanted
All the lies I told still haunt me
All the while I feel taunted
Seen the truth these demons flaunted.

The price of living is the pain of forgiving
The essence of despair dampens the spirit of whats fair
The devils feast like vultures carving man like clay sculptures
Kneading in obsession to create creatures open to possession.

In the end we are made as grotesque caricatures fiends and characters playing in an infernal play.