Cradle Of Filth - Godspeed On The Devil's Thunde | Текст песни

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• Cradle Of Filth
• Godspeed On The Devil's Thunde

Burning like derision on the prism of night

Still squirming from the sermon, those determined parasites

Meant to overpower and bedizen his light

He paced his tower prison with a dissonant appetite

The moon was black

Devil may care

Three times he'd glared before his judges

Darkening there

With a Wormwood mind

And a gullet of poison

Asked

He thought the court a farce

His tongue as sharp as glass

A bastard to the last

This truth assassin...

... tautened his claws at the ruinous cast

Flexing vexation at clerics aghast

In uproar he caused the cross to be masked

And the hex of exile from God's Kingdom passed

Back in the mirror, shattered vanity died

The curse even clearer on the sanity side

Banished from the lavish tracts of paradise

From Heaven's shored poured to the sore divide

The moon was black

Devil may care

Their thunder sundered all his veils

Thickening there

His beligerent pulse

To a sickening crawl

Yes

He'd fostered wickedness

Fed vipers at his breast

Inflicted death's caress

So now to suffer...

He'd burn, discern

That his second turn

Would last for eternity

In reckoning flames

That night his plight marched in demented Parades

O'er a rainbow of black magic scars

The blood ran to fear, turned to torment in spades

Deep in the sleep of this heretic, barred

The nightmares were livid, occultist, depraved

His epiphany struggled to come

But dawn found him there, redemptive, prepared

Like Christ to Golgotha, his face to the sun

All fears were smeared

When Joan had appeared

In a shower of tears

Last vestige of innocence

Yearning for her vision of divinity

Of her miracles and dreamt lyrical deeds

He would meet her at the pyre as the fire kissed

And together they'd climb to God, entwined in bliss

Devil may care

He awed the court with a sworn confession

Quickening there

His radiant death

And acute renewal

Thus

The end was glorious

He went like Jesus trussed

To shadow and to dust

At the stroke of seven

And

With thieves at both his hands

The Reaper of these lands

Wept with holy plans

As he choked to heaven


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