Текст (слова) песни: Theatre Of Tragedy - Seraphic Deviltry
Whether He the quaint savant`s power doth hold I know not, Albeit aetat a thousand stars` birth He is - Quoth 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 added are - Pelf they are, dare I say! Maugre His diurnal seraphic 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 fallings", quoth He, "the fatter the better!", And died they of starvation; They are not slaughtering their fatlings; They are slaughtering themselves. Sith I at time of yester the questions durst ask, And dare I say this burden weightful was, Wrack of His machine-like motion was I named, Tho` blind and fond the jesters rebuilt The machine alike - yet whetted a dight are its edges...
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