Darkness Incarnate
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Lyrics
"Something thicker than despair,
rides upon the midnight air.
The smell of blood, the taste of prey,
we spy you hiding Gilles de Rais..."
Under August swelter,
after banquet and soiree.
When spiced wine and song,
have further heated veins.
To the ninth degree as tenacula,
hold another body in their sway.
Gilles retires from the grasping fires,
that will ashen the remains.
Darkness incarnate!
Demons in his semen,
that once clung about the throats.
Of children dragged,
from cellars to his rooms.
Now permeate the castle,
all who sleep dream of the goat.
That dark eclectic harbinger of doom.
Nightingales sang of tragedy,
whispers were made of blasphemy.
Vain, insane, this brute aloof,
drew tainted veils over bitter truth.
The stairs ran helter-skelter,
his bedchamber besieged.
By phantoms who sheltered,
in it's furs, remorse.
Sought to overwhelm him,
like a lantern of disease.
That shone on rotten faces,
of those murdered out in force.
Darkness incarnate!
Fleeing ghosts so indisposed,
to his Satanic love.
Of children dragged,
from cellars to his feast.
He rose, a carnal wind opposed,
to those that sat above.
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 tainted sails over naked truth.
Madness clouded everything,
like a lycanthropic shroud.
And through it's ghastly lineaments he saw.
The trees become obscenities,
semen drip from every bough.
As if he rooted Nature like a whore.
Dryads tongued,
under skirts of leaves,
surrendering branches,
that slenderly pleased.
The Mocking orifices,
and the forest on her knees
Then once besotted,
knotted trunks now grew.
Rotten, venereal,
cancerous, blue.
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 to 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.
Madness clouded everything,
like a lycanthropic shroud.
And through it's ghastly lineaments he saw.
Hundreds of slain children,
some came crawling disembowelled.
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 awful scene.
He sobbed and wept,
no voice was left,
to scream, the dream,
was not drubbed yet.
He heard the horrors,
hiss beside him.
"Herod, you'll regret..."
"Who hears the tears of nightfall?
Who steers the spears so spiteful..."
"Oh my dearest Angels,
go pray to God for me..."
rides upon the midnight air.
The smell of blood, the taste of prey,
we spy you hiding Gilles de Rais..."
Under August swelter,
after banquet and soiree.
When spiced wine and song,
have further heated veins.
To the ninth degree as tenacula,
hold another body in their sway.
Gilles retires from the grasping fires,
that will ashen the remains.
Darkness incarnate!
Demons in his semen,
that once clung about the throats.
Of children dragged,
from cellars to his rooms.
Now permeate the castle,
all who sleep dream of the goat.
That dark eclectic harbinger of doom.
Nightingales sang of tragedy,
whispers were made of blasphemy.
Vain, insane, this brute aloof,
drew tainted veils over bitter truth.
The stairs ran helter-skelter,
his bedchamber besieged.
By phantoms who sheltered,
in it's furs, remorse.
Sought to overwhelm him,
like a lantern of disease.
That shone on rotten faces,
of those murdered out in force.
Darkness incarnate!
Fleeing ghosts so indisposed,
to his Satanic love.
Of children dragged,
from cellars to his feast.
He rose, a carnal wind opposed,
to those that sat above.
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 tainted sails over naked truth.
Madness clouded everything,
like a lycanthropic shroud.
And through it's ghastly lineaments he saw.
The trees become obscenities,
semen drip from every bough.
As if he rooted Nature like a whore.
Dryads tongued,
under skirts of leaves,
surrendering branches,
that slenderly pleased.
The Mocking orifices,
and the forest on her knees
Then once besotted,
knotted trunks now grew.
Rotten, venereal,
cancerous, blue.
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 to 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.
Madness clouded everything,
like a lycanthropic shroud.
And through it's ghastly lineaments he saw.
Hundreds of slain children,
some came crawling disembowelled.
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 awful scene.
He sobbed and wept,
no voice was left,
to scream, the dream,
was not drubbed yet.
He heard the horrors,
hiss beside him.
"Herod, you'll regret..."
"Who hears the tears of nightfall?
Who steers the spears so spiteful..."
"Oh my dearest Angels,
go pray to God for me..."
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