Incarnadined Hands

What is a man? Is he the sum of his beliefs?
 Or is he measured by the depths of his misdeeds?
 Is he but flesh and bone? The sum of component parts?
 Is he what he has wrought? Or what he has torn apart?
 Our abhorrent enterprise, so deeply despised
 But evidence, I'll provide, to spare my own hide
 I'll send Burke to his grave
 To be betrayed by incarnadined hands
 Am I a butcher uncouth?
 The telltale truth are these incarnadined hands
 Am I a slaughterer or a surgeon? A taker or giver of life?
 A thief or a murderer? For which crime am I to be tried?
 So many I've anatomized, truly I was desensitized I never failed to edify,
 Nor to brutalize
 The stain of the grave
 I am betrayed by incarnadined hands
 The meager length of the noose
 The punishment due for incarnadined hands
 Please tell me who I am
 Please tell me who I am
 What is a man? Is he the end or is he the means?
 For lucre's gleam, undertaking hideous misdeeds
 I once thought I knew, but now I see it true
 When you look into death, it looks back into you
 The stain of the grave
 I am betrayed by incarnadined hands
 The meager length of the noose
 The punishment due for incarnadined hands
 Please tell me who I am