What kind of a fool do you take me for? The lust of a monk or a troubadour I must be the last of a dying race What virtue is wrought from a man who is chaste? And spiteful enough for a holy war What kind of a man do you think I am? A master who's failed at his own exam This knowledge of life has become a cage A prison where reason has turned to rage A hawk that circles a pentagram What kind of a face do these people see? A creature enslaved by his inquiry A chain of thought that will never stop Perhaps a bull in a china shop A monster trapped in a library I'm caught in this race's own graveyard I'm piecing together unholy shards A man that died of his mental health An age that turned it against himself And left to gather his own reward What ever does this world want from me? A martyr for a moral tragedy