Mignight Shadows Crawl To Darken Counsel With Life
Error loading media: File could not be played
Lyrics
"Sometimes I beheaded them,
with daggers, with poniards, with knives.
Sometimes I suspended them in my room,
from a pole or by a hook and chords,
and strangled them.
And when they were languishing,
I committed with them the evils of the flesh..."
The evening air laps thick about,
the stagnant moat that Tiffauges claims.
As dusk now slips away!
Where taught to run, the rotten tongue,
of a hotter Götterdämmerung,
has started licking like a flame.
Whispers in the dismal mist,
are full of crystal promises.
Black rites begun in earnest,
ignite Hell's hungry furnace.
Behold the bold,
inauguration of the darkside.
Demonic passions climbing,
ill-fated stars aligning.
Tonight these sights,
are guaranteed to feed the master.
The tide of blood is rising,
his gifts will be providing.
Unmasked, the Phantom Lord De Rais.
Haunts the furthest tower,
wherein Death has sucked the hour.
There, throttled gasps tantamount to foreplay,
and drooling razors next to come,
unspool red secrets from the young.
The moon grinned full,
the games were chaste.
When the children first arrived.
Now midnight shadows crawl apace,
to darken counsel with their lives.
Flesh and ecstasy as sport,
are immortal vices of the highest order.
Wherein devilry holds sway.
Behind blind walls,
where these cockatrice squalled.
Their songs of Necronomicon,
spoke out of Gilles De Rais.
Behold the bold,
inauguration of the darkside.
Demonic passions climbing,
ill-fated stars aligning.
Tonight these sights,
are guaranteed to feed the master.
The tide of blood is rising,
his gifts will be providing.
Unmasked, the Phantom Lord De Rais.
Haunts the furthest tower,
wherein Death has sucked the hour.
There, throttled gasps tantamount to foreplay,
and drooling razors next to come,
unspool red secrets from the young.
Each murdered son,
each frozen rose handpicked,
was gently fed.
To the sumptuous one,
in black and those,
whose lives were thrown,
in with the dead.
The candles lit, the stage was set,
as it was in sainted days.
When censers swung and banners hung,
on the Siege of Orleans, on the painted Seine.
Now the castle floats in the drifting fog,
torn from it's moorings.
Like a shipwreck dredged from Hell.
As innocents entreat a shifting God,
their voices soaring,
on a silver tide to Heaven,
on a knife edge as they fell.
The blade would plunge in virulent arcs,
such wounds would stretch away.
By the fireside, warmed to creative sparks,
of the monster Gilles De Rais,
Gilded Gilles De Rais!
Comets vomited,
the restless bells of crime,
Peeled back skin from broken bonesm
of Angels cut from the nicks of time.
Festering faces with painted eyes,
the prettiest kept to be thrust inside.
Gaping necromantic from the mantle-side,
caked in kissed goodbyes.
Days faded in decay,
the stench of perfume lied.
No horror in the glades of man,
was left for Barron to provide.
So unique was the beat of his poisoned heart,
and it's sordid, morbid crack.
No further atrocity could possibly surpass,
unrewarded, bored, he turned his back.
The evening air laps thick about,
the stagnant moat that Tiffauges claims.
As dusk now slips away!
Where taught to run, the rotten tongue,
of a hotter Götterdämmerung,
has started licking like a flame.
with daggers, with poniards, with knives.
Sometimes I suspended them in my room,
from a pole or by a hook and chords,
and strangled them.
And when they were languishing,
I committed with them the evils of the flesh..."
The evening air laps thick about,
the stagnant moat that Tiffauges claims.
As dusk now slips away!
Where taught to run, the rotten tongue,
of a hotter Götterdämmerung,
has started licking like a flame.
Whispers in the dismal mist,
are full of crystal promises.
Black rites begun in earnest,
ignite Hell's hungry furnace.
Behold the bold,
inauguration of the darkside.
Demonic passions climbing,
ill-fated stars aligning.
Tonight these sights,
are guaranteed to feed the master.
The tide of blood is rising,
his gifts will be providing.
Unmasked, the Phantom Lord De Rais.
Haunts the furthest tower,
wherein Death has sucked the hour.
There, throttled gasps tantamount to foreplay,
and drooling razors next to come,
unspool red secrets from the young.
The moon grinned full,
the games were chaste.
When the children first arrived.
Now midnight shadows crawl apace,
to darken counsel with their lives.
Flesh and ecstasy as sport,
are immortal vices of the highest order.
Wherein devilry holds sway.
Behind blind walls,
where these cockatrice squalled.
Their songs of Necronomicon,
spoke out of Gilles De Rais.
Behold the bold,
inauguration of the darkside.
Demonic passions climbing,
ill-fated stars aligning.
Tonight these sights,
are guaranteed to feed the master.
The tide of blood is rising,
his gifts will be providing.
Unmasked, the Phantom Lord De Rais.
Haunts the furthest tower,
wherein Death has sucked the hour.
There, throttled gasps tantamount to foreplay,
and drooling razors next to come,
unspool red secrets from the young.
Each murdered son,
each frozen rose handpicked,
was gently fed.
To the sumptuous one,
in black and those,
whose lives were thrown,
in with the dead.
The candles lit, the stage was set,
as it was in sainted days.
When censers swung and banners hung,
on the Siege of Orleans, on the painted Seine.
Now the castle floats in the drifting fog,
torn from it's moorings.
Like a shipwreck dredged from Hell.
As innocents entreat a shifting God,
their voices soaring,
on a silver tide to Heaven,
on a knife edge as they fell.
The blade would plunge in virulent arcs,
such wounds would stretch away.
By the fireside, warmed to creative sparks,
of the monster Gilles De Rais,
Gilded Gilles De Rais!
Comets vomited,
the restless bells of crime,
Peeled back skin from broken bonesm
of Angels cut from the nicks of time.
Festering faces with painted eyes,
the prettiest kept to be thrust inside.
Gaping necromantic from the mantle-side,
caked in kissed goodbyes.
Days faded in decay,
the stench of perfume lied.
No horror in the glades of man,
was left for Barron to provide.
So unique was the beat of his poisoned heart,
and it's sordid, morbid crack.
No further atrocity could possibly surpass,
unrewarded, bored, he turned his back.
The evening air laps thick about,
the stagnant moat that Tiffauges claims.
As dusk now slips away!
Where taught to run, the rotten tongue,
of a hotter Götterdämmerung,
has started licking like a flame.
| « Honey And Sulphur | Godspeed On The Devil's Thunder Songs | Darkness Incarnate » |
