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Let me paint you a portrait of a manwhose very name would define in times to come all things profane |
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Born unto privilege child of aristocracy,so tender the young mind, yet so unclean |
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His was a heart of darkness that beat within his chest |
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Breasting life into the crimes he'd manifest |
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Imp of the perverse on a bloody path he trods |
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Scribe of the unthinkable the marquis de sade |
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Outraging the laws of hate and narcissism |
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That to fight the incubation's but in vain |
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Nature inspires our tastes bizarre |
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She paints them only as they are |
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From the darkest corners of the mind as realas the morning sun shall rise, just the same |
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He wove his written word with threads of flesh throughout |
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He promised things so frightening they'll turn you inside out |
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When terror's grip has set your soul is set aflame |
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Behold the architect of pain |
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Unearthing fantasies too savage to reveal |
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Twisting your world with visions centuries concealed |
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Was he philosopher or was he just insane? |
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Behold the architect of pain |
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Each tale black as pitch dressed in the colors of hell |
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Your dreams will fill with the sounding of the knell |
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Feel the looming shadow of the hungry guillotine |
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And you'll be blinded by the blade's fatal gleam |
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Outraging the laws of both nature and religion |
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Subjugation in behalf or her domain |
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Or so he believed with all his hate and narcissism |
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That to fight the inclination's but in vain |
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Nature inspires our tastes bizarre |
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She paints them only as they are |
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From the darkest corners of the mind as realas the morning sun shall rise, just the same |
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Nature cannot bind you, you only need to serve unto her |
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Harming without stint or cease at the expense of whosoever may be |
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Their pain becomes your paradise, your |
