| 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 |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Byronic Man , by - Cradle Of Filth. Song from the album Thornography, in the genre