Heads roll, faces spinning before your eyes

Death to Louise the thirteenth,

They yell

Death to the Monarchy,

They chant

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

Comes the sound of the Devil's teeth

The innocent scream

The rest cheer and shout

Very few look away in shame

Nobody tries to help us

The blamed

The innocent

They blame us...all of us

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

Dirty sweaty limbs jerk in fright

Snarled hair itches our faces

Our priceless clothing...Rags

The smell of death haunts us

It waits...

Taunting us.

In the form of a giant metal knife

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

The cart halts with a jolt

Its inhabitants toppling

To one side of the cart

Like a handful of

Mangled china dolls

Our hearts are shattered

We feel nothing

We see nothing

Cause if we do

It hurts

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

Death to the Monarchy,

They yell

Long live the republic,

They chant

As one by one

Human beings face their fate

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

A mother begs for

Your life,

My life.

As she is torn from your arms!

I am but a child.

I am blamed

But I am Innocent

Can't you see?

I am a but child...A Child

What is your republic

But a gruesome nightmare?

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

What has become of your order?

Your hands are drenched in blood

Your perfect cities are

Bloated with carnage and filth

Think of it.

Mother...your mother

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

Her head, shaken in your face.

Her eyes lifeless and cold.

Praying, I am praying

My head embraces

Madame Guillotine endows a

Bitterstweet Necklace of rubies

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

It could be yours next

Dress soaked with blood

Still conscious

 

Ten

Nine

Eight

Seven

 

Pain...so much pain

 

Six

Five

Four

 

Blurred faces

 

Three

Two

One

 

Death...

 

It comes softly to the suffering

To the innocent

To the blamed

Soon, it will come back

To haunt you

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

Soon, it will have you

Then, what will become of you republic?

Your reborn society?

But a hundred faces detached

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

From bodies that have turned

Upon each other

Blaming...You Innocent?

Do not speak of innocence to me

For I am but a child

And you have turned your face from me

 

CHOP.

SLASH.

CHOP.

 

Madame Guillotine is calling

And she is hungry

For the blamed

For the innocent

For the guilty

For you...