From:
I bled on a pivotal stretch
Like a clockwork Christ
Bears sore stigmata, bored
And as I threw Job, I drove
Myself to a martyred wretch
To see if I drew pity
Or pretty litanies from the Lord
So the plot sickened
With the coming of days
Ill millennia thickened
With the claret I sprayed
And though they saw red
I left a dirty white stain
A splintered knot in the grain
On Eden?s marital aid
So glad for the madness(x2)
I walked the walls naked to the moon
In Sodom and Babylon
And through rich whores and corridors
Of the Vatican
I led a sordid Borgia on
I read the Urilia text
So that mortals wormed
As livebait for the dead
And as I broke hope, I choked
Another Pope with manna peel
Dictating to DeSade
In the dark entrails of the Bastille
And as He wrote, I smote
A royal blow to the heads of France
And in the sheen of guillotines
I saw others, fallen, dance
I was an incurable
Necromantic old fool
A phagadaena that crawled
Drooling over the past
A rabid wolf in a shawl
A razor?s edge to the rule
That the stars overall
Were never destined to last
So glad for the madness(x2)
I furnaced dreams, a poet, foe of sleep
Turning sermons with the smell
On Witchfinder fingers
Where bad memories lingered
Burning, as when Dante
Was freed to map Hell
I sired schemes and the means
To catch sight of the seams
And the vagaries inbetween...
And midst the lips and the curls
Of this cunt of a world
In glimpses I would see
A nymph with eyes for me
Eyes of fire that set all life aflame
Lights that surpassed art
In sight , that no intense device of pain
Could prise their secrets from my heart
I knew not Her name
Though her kiss was the same
Without a whisper of shame
As either Virtue or Sin?s
And pressed to Her Curve
I felt my destiny swerve
From damnation reserved
To a permanent grin...
So glad for the madness(x2)
Translate to:
I bled on a pivotal stretch
Like a clockwork Christ
Bears sore stigmata, bored
And as I threw Job, I drove
Myself to a martyred wretch
To see if I drew pity
Or pretty litanies from the Lord
So the plot sickened
With the coming of days
Ill millennia thickened
With the claret I sprayed
And though they saw red
I left a dirty white stain
A splintered knot in the grain
On Eden?s marital aid
So glad for the madness(x2)
I walked the walls naked to the moon
In Sodom and Babylon
And through rich whores and corridors
Of the Vatican
I led a sordid Borgia on
I read the Urilia text
So that mortals wormed
As livebait for the dead
And as I broke hope, I choked
Another Pope with manna peel
Dictating to DeSade
In the dark entrails of the Bastille
And as He wrote, I smote
A royal blow to the heads of France
And in the sheen of guillotines
I saw others, fallen, dance
I was an incurable
Necromantic old fool
A phagadaena that crawled
Drooling over the past
A rabid wolf in a shawl
A razor?s edge to the rule
That the stars overall
Were never destined to last
So glad for the madness(x2)
I furnaced dreams, a poet, foe of sleep
Turning sermons with the smell
On Witchfinder fingers
Where bad memories lingered
Burning, as when Dante
Was freed to map Hell
I sired schemes and the means
To catch sight of the seams
And the vagaries inbetween...
And midst the lips and the curls
Of this cunt of a world
In glimpses I would see
A nymph with eyes for me
Eyes of fire that set all life aflame
Lights that surpassed art
In sight , that no intense device of pain
Could prise their secrets from my heart
I knew not Her name
Though her kiss was the same
Without a whisper of shame
As either Virtue or Sin?s
And pressed to Her Curve
I felt my destiny swerve
From damnation reserved
To a permanent grin...
So glad for the madness(x2)