walking the eternal stairs with your reprobated soul

to crawl out from the underworld, your final crucial goal

hoping he won't recognize you, now that you've been burned

regret's your motivation, not faith in the god you've spurned

like a crab in a trap, you've clawed your way to the top

always justifying the means, machiavelli was your pop

ideals have come around, but now it's too late

your triumphs mean nothing, as you stand before the gate

you never thought you'd be here, you were going places

you held the winning hand, eights over aces

never been able to separate immorality from the goal

now you stand facing immortality with your reprobated soul