| 'Something thicker than despair
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| Rides upon the midnight air
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| The smell of blood, the taste of prey
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| We spy you hiding Gilles de Rais'
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| Under August swelter, after banquet and soiree
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| When spiced wine and song have further heated veins
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| To the ninth degree as tenacula hold another body in their sway
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| Gilles retires from the grasping fires that will ashen the remains
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| Darkness incarnate
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| Demons in his semen that once clung about the throats
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| Of children dragged from cellars to his rooms
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| Now permeate the castle, all who sleep dream of the goat
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| That dark eclectic harbinger of doom
|
| Nightingales sang of tragedy
|
| Whispers were made of blasphemy
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| Vain, insane, this brute aloof
|
| Drew tainted veils over bitter truth
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| The stairs ran helterskelter
|
| His bedchamber besieged
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| By phantoms who sheltered in it’s furs, remorse
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| They sought to overwhelm him like a lantern of disease that shone on rotten
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| faces of those murdered out in force
|
| Darkness incarnate
|
| Fleeing ghosts so indisposed to his Satanic love
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| Of children dragged from cellars to his feast
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| He rose, a carnal wind opposed to those that sat above
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| Tearing out into the forest like a beast
|
| The night wind sang of tragedy
|
| Whispers were made of blasphemy
|
| Vain, insane, this brute aloof
|
| Drew painted sails over naked truth
|
| Madness clouded everything like a lycanthropic shroud
|
| And through it’s ghastly lineaments he saw
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| The trees become obscenities
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| Semen drip from every bough
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| As if he rooted Nature like a whore
|
| Dryads tongued under skirts of leaves
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| Surrendering branches that slenderly pleased
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| The mocking orifices and the forest on her knees
|
| Then once besotted, knotted trunks now grew
|
| Rotten, venereal, cancerous, blue
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| The clotting of his heart to a rank cantankerous tune
|
| Death is only a matter of a little pain
|
| Beneath the sallow moonlight in a wonderland of pain
|
| Gilles fled back through the castle, terrified and drained
|
| He sought his deep red velvet bed and the sleep it preordained
|
| Exhausted, forced into the dead, the creep of nightmares came again
|
| Sadness clouded everything like a lycanthropic shroud
|
| And through it’s ghastly lineaments he saw
|
| Hundreds of slain children, some came crawling disemboweled
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| To where he stretched out howling on all fours
|
| Corpses tore at his legs and knees
|
| As he clawed to the cross begging reprieve from a Lord that soared above the
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| awful scene
|
| He sobbed and wept, no voice was left
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| To scream, the dream was not drubbed yet
|
| He heard the horrors hiss beside him, 'Herod, you’ll regret…'
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| 'Who hears the tears of nightfall?
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| Who steers the spears so spiteful?'
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| Oh my dearest angels
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| Go pray to God for me |