I, Avarice کے بول

A desirous heart with a scavenger's eye Fixated only on your possession With the will of a thousand hunters Starved and in pursuit And the mastery of an artist Perceptively in tune He extends a steady hand And you think nothing of it When gathering his demands And surrendering them to him I will be the keeper of everything that they hold dear I will take pleasure in making it all disappear Such a smooth deceiver Grinning as he leaves them Empty handed and broken Feeling like givers not victims So graciously fooled in that moment Where even your heart you'd have thought A relief to unburden into him Had he shown the appetite Heavy steps carry his departure Pockets filled with victories The most satisfying of pleasures This wicked sense of glory I will be the keeper of everything that they hold dear I will take pleasure in making it all disappear