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theatre of tragedy - seraphic deviltry كلمات أغنية

whether he the quaint savant’s power doth hold i know not,
albeit ætat 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 addéd 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 fatlings», qouth 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…

- theatre of tragedy

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