I bled on a pivotal stretch
Like a clockwork, Christ bears sore stigmata (bored)
And as I threw Job, I drove myself to a martyred wretch
To see if I drew pity or pretty litanies from the Lord
So the plot sickened with the coming of days
Ill millennia thickened with the claret I sprayed
And though they saw red, I left a dirty white stain
A splintered knot in the grain on Eden's marital aid
So glad for the madness
So glad for the madness
I walked the walls, naked to the moon, in Sodom and Babylon
And through rich whores and corridors of the Vatican
I led a sordid Borgia on
I read the Urilia text
So that mortals wormed as live bait for the dead
And as I broke hope, I choked another Pope with manna peel
Dictating to De Sade in the dark entrails of the Bastille
And as he wrote, I smote a royal blow to the heads of France
And in the sheen of guillotines, I saw others, fallen, dance
I was an incurable necromantic old fool
A phagedaena that crawled, drooling over the past
A rabid wolf in a shawl, a razor's edge to the rule
That the stars overall were never destined to last
So glad for the madness
So glad for the madness
I furnaced dreams, a poet, foe of sleep
Turning sermons with the smell
On witchfinder fingers, where bad memories lingered
Burning, as when Dante was freed to map hell
And I sired schemes and the means
To catch sight of the seams and the vagaries in between
And midst the lips and the curls of this cunt of a world
In glimpses, I would see a nymph with eyes for
Me, me, me, me, me, me, me
Eyes of fire that set all life aflame
Lights that surpassed art
In sight, that no intense device of pain
Could prise their secrets from my heart
I knew not her name, though her kiss was the same
Without a whisper of shame as either virtue of sins
And pressed to her curve, I felt my destiny swerve
From damnation reserved to a permanent grin
So glad for the madness
So glad for the madness
|
