Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Balsamic and Anathema, artist - Cradle Of Filth. Album song Godspeed On The Devil's Thunder, in the genre
Date of issue: 23.10.2008
Record label: The All Blacks
Song language: English
Balsamic and Anathema |
Worming through the mark |
Of Ezekiel and Mark |
Through the chapters of Honorius |
Gilles, as in a trance |
Screwed the pages up and danced |
Courting something vainly glorious |
He walked he gravest night |
That decrepit final juncture |
Of doom and negativity |
Reeking of death |
And the gloom of Stygian light |
When suddenly, the faintest whisper! |
A curtain opened in a painted vista |
Moonbeams swept into his dream… |
Balsamic and anathema |
Balsamic and anathema |
Prelati full of stars |
Magical, ecstatic stars |
That sparkled, no debacle sought to douse |
His fiery omnipresence |
Hissed at heaven, evanescent |
He was there to thwart the burning of his Faust |
The gates were prised, the phantom horses |
Snorted, restless to be gone |
With enchantment’s eyes upon the door, he cried- |
'Come with me now! |
' |
Gilles balked, the thought of life |
Accused and pursued |
And overridden by morbidity |
Saddened his breath |
For those destined for his knife |
Then suddenly — the strangest feeling |
One that left the angels reeling |
Atonement crept into his midst |
Balsamic and anathema |
Balsamic and anathema |
Prelati, full of stars |
This abductor of his heart |
Promised him horizons free of pain |
But all the grand designs |
Magic sings and midnight wines |
In the dream-world couldn’t hope to swerve his aim |
He would stay and face his slayers |
Cardinals and courtroom players |
Whilst Prelati must now flee before |
The pure and azure dawn… |
The gates were wide, the phantom horses |
Snorted, restless to be gone |
With enchantment’s eyes upon the door |
Once more he cried |
'Come with me now! |
' |
Prelati full of stars |
Tried to pull him from the dance |
Summoning his Barron to perform |
But as the Demon rose |
In sweet miracles of prose |
And propaganda, came a proper bible storm |
Lightning — grinning, froze |
On this murder-site of crows |
And from the scattered ashes stepped a sylph |
The maiden Joan of Arc |
Crept more beautiful and dark |
A paradise, a cradle free of filth |
She was chaste beyond all graces |
The face of faith illuminated |
More precious than Prelati’s spell |
A Goddess in a dream… |
And trembling in her arm |
Her eyes a thousand golden psalms |
That glittered as on Christmas night |
He wept like Hallowe’en |
He held the scene, the poignant gleam |
Of peace and great serenity |
Close to his heart, her parting kiss |
He slept to wake released in bliss |