Zoetrope

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Dernier Martyr

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What’s past is prologue
For the circle always repeats
Keeping time in the wings
You were never meant to see
Steep was the path chosen for me
The one of torch and torture
Of flesh and flame the holy gift
That brought on my misfortune

A scapegoat which was torn apart
By the cold hands of the pilgrims 
The messenger who took the blame
Of those who would be victims
Time washed away your idols
Buried empires in the sand
I stand among the ruins
Waiting for the next ones
Without brethren to turn to
No hope to share this fate
Through endless aeons upon this earth
A progeny of Cain

A scapegoat which was torn apart
By the cold hands of the pilgrims 
The messenger who took the blame
Of those who would be victims

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