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