The blood runs cold through my veins like the arctic waters.
As you scream for help I shed no tear, show no hope, and kill the compassionate soul that links us two.
Now as the tears turn crimson as they bead in your eyes I'll laugh and cry.
Not from sorrow but pure blessed joy.
The act I play is the one that has no heart, no soul, or abiding right.
I walk hollow with no hope to shine, the mask i wear shows no care, and the heart I wield is shriveled and shrewd.
Now as the light dims and you beg for trust, the laughter stops and your final hour has struck.