"What could be more simple and more complex, more obvious and more profound than a portrait?"
[―Charles Baudelaire]

In a world controlled by fire..
In a world controlled by fire,
Psychotic preachers thrive.

They use the waves to bind us,
They use the screens to blind us.
I joined headless forces
They told us what to do.
We worked, we fought, we bled.

A cogwheel in the system,
A ghost in the machine.
In my private thoughts,
Only pain felt real.

Cry!
I am crying, in the portrait
Of a headless man.
Laugh!
I am laughing, in the portrait
Of a headless man

I am a man with strong regrets.
I followed great deceivers
Believe in headless leaders.
They played their game, true sons of Cain
But I was a hopeless dreamer,
With my head deep in the clouds.

More joined the fiery leaders,
And blood was shed in rivers.
Those without a mind had to pick our side,
With the use of fearsome methods.
One more empty frame ready for display,
On a gallery of headless portraits.

Cry!
I am crying, in the portrait
Of a headless man.
Laugh!
I am laughing, in the portrait
Of a headless man