'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 helterskelter
His bedchamber besieged
By phantoms who sheltered
In it's furs, remorse
They 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 painted 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
[Gilles de Rais:]
Death is only a matter of a little pain
Beneath the sallow moonlight
In a wonderland of pain
Gilles fled back through 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
Sadness clouded everything
Like a lycanthropic shroud
And through it's ghastly lineaments he saw
Hundreds of slain children
Some came crawling disemboweled
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?'
[Gilles:]
Oh my dearest angels
Go pray to God for me
