Mr. Malum's got a secret he keeps when giving speeches.
Just a whispering precision that cuts through hesitation
With a sharp and evil wit to keep the dogs at bay.
When the truth arrives, you won't believe your eyes.
He's triumph's pessimist, but he's no less content.
With the world in the grip of his hands,
He'll crush the air out of its lungs.
Say we don't want him to have it all,
But now it's just too late to ask,
Because his hold has turned so tight.
His puppets to the left and his pawns to line the right,
But every eye is front and center, a cruel intoxication,
From the sap that trickles down his branches to their mouths.
When the truth arrives, you won't believe your eyes.
A vicious champion, but he's no less content.
With the world in the grip of his hands,
He'll crush the air out of its lungs.
Say we don't want him to have it all,
But now it's just too late to ask,
Because his hold has turned so tight.
The air we're barely breathing's not enough,
And in this final gasp that rattles us to bend,
The last thing that we will see is Mr. Malum.
Tighten his tie,
When he slips in his suit,
A link to the cuff,
And the shine of his shoes.
But when the truth arrived, you didn't trust your eyes.
Say we don't want him to have it all,
But now it's just too late to ask.
You had your chance, but you turned away again.
You had your chance, but you turned away again.
You had your chance, but you turned your eyes away again.