Whether He the quaint savant's power doth held I now not,
Albeit aetat a thousand stars' birth He is -
Zuoth I that for reasons to me oblivious
August of a granditude of servants is He held,
And by plastic consonantry e'en more servants to the host addéd are -
Pelf they are, dare I say!
Maugre His diurnal serphic deviltry
I say that deviltry - 'tis forsooth deviltry! -
Mind not this in scintillating shades clad is;
To claim the glore is He suffer'd.
"Grant me the fatlings", gouth He, "the fatter the better!",
And died they of starvation;
They are not slaughtering their fatlings -
They are slaughtering 'hemselves.
Sith I at time of yester the questions durst ask,
And dare I say this burthen weightful was,
Wrack of His machine - like motion was I naméd,
Tho' blind and fond the jesters rebuilt
The machine alike - yet whettéd and dight are its edges...
Seraphic Deviltry Lyrics performed by Theatre Of Tragedy are property and copyright of the authors, artists and labels. You should note that Seraphic Deviltry Lyrics performed by Theatre Of Tragedy is only provided for educational purposes only and if you like the song you should buy the CD