It's all happening now, it's taking form. The four horsemen are ready for war. Burning so deeply, it's eager to please. Until that moment of weakness: There's no pleading. No ease. Too little, too late. Dear bitter-sweet. I adore it. I loathe it. So fertile. So faint. It's the offering to your god. The extortion of innocents. Only stronger it grows; I'm the complicity to the sin.