Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Byronic Man, artist - Cradle Of Filth. Album song Thornography, in the genre Date of issue: 08.10.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The All Blacks
Song language: English
The Byronic Man |
| As lonely as a poet on the walls of Jericho |
| Or the moon without the comfort of the stars |
| I am loath to know it that a man without a soul |
| Is nothing but a split canopic jar |
| I proved it, improved it |
| Drove a sonnet right through it |
| And in this state of bliss |
| Evil kissed with wet lips |
| Pen-filled fingertips |
| Which drew me, for through me |
| Illuminati usually pissed |
| But with words of some hurts worth |
| I threw a party that extended God’s list |
| Exciting new flames that my fame would claim for me |
| Reciting back the almanac of travesties |
| They call me bad |
| Mad Caliban with manner |
| Dangerous to know |
| A passing fad |
| Taught in all debauch |
| In excess and in canto |
| Grown wild this child |
| Whole harems defiled |
| Faustina’s and Mina’s |
| Lady Libertine and her sisters between her |
| What spread of lies arise when lovers die |
| Which circle of hell is mine when I arrive? |
| They call me bad |
| Mad Caliban with manners |
| Dangerous to know |
| A passing fad |
| Taught in all debauch |
| Crow against the virgin snow |
| Grown colder, my shoulder |
| Like a boulder beside her |
| And bolder, not wiser |
| My dark seed took up root inside her |
| That mouldered, where older |
| Beddings would hold a passionate sigh |
| But laudanum and soda |
| Lord Numb coda |
| Merited a forest of inherited spite |
| Fleeing grief for foreign maps |
| I still played vampire aristocrat |
| Unloading my gun in hot, promiscuous laps |
| Then shooting swans in a gondola |
| I tripped my foot on a fallen star |
| And there’s nothing like a mouthful of Venetian tar |
| To let you know just who you fucking are |
| The patron saint of heartache |
| You can’t see my world is falling |
| The world is falling down |
| The patron saint of heartache |
| Can’t see the world is falling |
| My world is falling down |
| Ever after, can they hear my laughter? |
| The patron saint of heartache |
| Never craft a better bed of disaster… |
| The patron saint of heartache |
| They call me bad |
| Made Caliban with manners |
| Dangerous to know |
| A passing fad |
| Taught in all debauch |
| In excess and in canto |
| They call me bad |
| Mad Caliban with manners |
| Dangerous to know |
| A passing fad |
| Whereupon I tell them |
| To go fuck their mothers |
| As so… |
| On my grave |