The Chariot

Wretched faces. This is nothing new to me, but still, enraptured. Don't keep grabbing the wind.
This is a loaded gun, this is a loaded question. When can you stop? When is perfection? Maybe I'm already the one out.
Consolidate all your fears. I can't take this, nothing sacred. This is of course as told from the knife.
You painted your eyes to make them wide again. I tip my hat to the great, to the classics. This is not my face, this is this weeks fear.