The Byronic Man Lyrics - Cradle Of Filth
Review The Song (2)
As lonely as a poet on the walls of Jericho
Or the moon without the comfort of the stars
I am loathe to know it that a man without a soul
Is nothing but a spilt canopic jar
I proved it, improved it
Drove a sonnet right through it
And in this state of bliss
Evil kissed with wet lips
Pen-filled fingertips
Which throught me, for throught me
Illuminati usually pissed
But with words of some hurts worth
I threw a party that extended God’s list
Exciting new flames that my fame would claim for me
Reciting back the almanac of travesties
They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners
Dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch
In excess and in canto
Grown wild this child
Whole harems defiled
Faustina’s and Mina’s
Lady Libertine and her sisters between her
What spread of lies arise when lovers die
Which circle of hell is mine when I arrive?
They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners
Dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch
Crow against the virgin snow
Grown colder, my shoulder
Like a boulder beside her
And bolder, not wiser
My dark seed took up root inside her
That mouldered, where older
Beddings would hold a passionate sigh
But laudanum and soda
Lord Numb coda
Merited a forest of inherited spite
Fleeing grief for foreign maps
I still played vampire aristocrat
Unloading my gun in hot, promiscuous laps
Then shooting swans in a gondola
I tripped my foot on a fallen star
And there’s nothing like a mouthful of Venetian tar
To let you know just who you fucking are
The patron saint of heartache
Can't see world is falling, the world is falling down
Ever after, can they hear my laughter?
The patron saint of heartache
Never craft a better bed of disaster...
The patron saint of heartache
They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners
Dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch
In excess and in canto
They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners
Dangerous to know
A passing fad
Whereupon I tell them
To go fuck their mothers
As so…
On my grave
Or the moon without the comfort of the stars
I am loathe to know it that a man without a soul
Is nothing but a spilt canopic jar
I proved it, improved it
Drove a sonnet right through it
And in this state of bliss
Evil kissed with wet lips
Pen-filled fingertips
Which throught me, for throught me
Illuminati usually pissed
But with words of some hurts worth
I threw a party that extended God’s list
Exciting new flames that my fame would claim for me
Reciting back the almanac of travesties
They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners
Dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch
In excess and in canto
Grown wild this child
Whole harems defiled
Faustina’s and Mina’s
Lady Libertine and her sisters between her
What spread of lies arise when lovers die
Which circle of hell is mine when I arrive?
They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners
Dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch
Crow against the virgin snow
Grown colder, my shoulder
Like a boulder beside her
And bolder, not wiser
My dark seed took up root inside her
That mouldered, where older
Beddings would hold a passionate sigh
But laudanum and soda
Lord Numb coda
Merited a forest of inherited spite
Fleeing grief for foreign maps
I still played vampire aristocrat
Unloading my gun in hot, promiscuous laps
Then shooting swans in a gondola
I tripped my foot on a fallen star
And there’s nothing like a mouthful of Venetian tar
To let you know just who you fucking are
The patron saint of heartache
Can't see world is falling, the world is falling down
Ever after, can they hear my laughter?
The patron saint of heartache
Never craft a better bed of disaster...
The patron saint of heartache
They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners
Dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch
In excess and in canto
They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners
Dangerous to know
A passing fad
Whereupon I tell them
To go fuck their mothers
As so…
On my grave
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Idiot | Reviewer: PureGothicPoison | 7/24/2007
It is right, read the booklet in the cd unless ur sayin the band tht wrote it r wrong lol idiot like u sed get it right.
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Incorrect. | Reviewer: Si | 6/19/2007
Your lyrics are incorrect... For example.
Then shooting swans in a gondola
I tripped my foot on a fallen star
And there’s nothing like a mouthful of Venetian tar
To let you know just who you fucking are
The first line is:
Then shooting spawns in a gondola
Get it right, or don't bother trying at all.
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