Gallery Of Sin

Suffer in this gallery of sin
Where weaknesses are immortalized
Masterpieces created for man's darkness inside

Awake again, in the middle of the night
Disorienting visions of powerlessness and spite
To sleep, perchance the opportunity to dream
Of a new world with no need for me

But here, we are, a savior stained in blood
Preaching the gospels from below and above

It's time to get back to my art
Pride is a sin that's close to my heart

The studio is as pristine as ever
The embodiment of immaculate and clean
A space that reflects the virtue of its master
A half-finished painting stares back at me

A red tower crumbles down to the side
Toppled over from the weight of its name
A gaudy sign glistening in pearly white
So large it won't fit in the frame

The fridge holds the ingredients
Tupperware in neat lines
Ready for the blender
Colors from their lives

Completion two parts closer
A gallery to show the evil of man
Viewed with grim satisfaction
Feelings they can't understand

I am the world's morbid satisfaction
I decide between what is divine and what is clean

If I speak, I am condemned
If I'm silent then we are all damned
Screaming go the pigs being led to the slaughter
Head in the feed not seeing the knife in the hand

I meet again with the curator of sin
His small beady eyes and his sick twisted grin
Waiting for more paintings that have built up his fame
Knowing full well that murders spread out his name

His hands are palms up toward me
Waiting to get paid
A "gallery fee" he calls it
How man has strayed

This is our final deal
For these painting and next
Ancient silver coins
30 total at last

To sleep, perchance the opportunity to dream
Of a utopia, shaped purely by we

But here, we are, a savior blessed in blood
Preaching the gospels from below and above

The pigs squeal
They squeal until I wake up this last time
And take that which is rightfully mine