Faces.

They have got a hundred,

I have got more.

Their hands, blood red,

Mine, now sore,

Their bodies, undead,

Working a chore,

Of chopping the head,

Expanding the lore.



Faces.

They have got a thousand,

I have got more.

They carry bows and,

I use a sword,

While betraying vows and,

Cracking the bones,

Using hands that are doused in,

The color of our cores.



Faces.

They have got a million,

I have got more.

Eyes, reptilian,

Facing a boar,

Lies, gazillion,

As the mighty all,

I sit on the pillion,

Joying the gore.



Faces.

They have got many, but

I have got more.

Riding my chariot,

Or hitching for rapport,

Or stitching a duplicate

Who can be sure,

But an honest celibate,

'Cause the face is a whore.