Žodžiai dainai: Cradle Of Filth. Sweetest Maleficia.

I conjure you Barron, Satan, Beelzebub
By the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit
By the Virgin Mary and all the saints to appear in person
So that you may speak to us and fulfill our desires
Come at my bidding and I will grant you whatever you want
However vile and the curtailing of my life

He would rise triumphant
All done up on a plume of raven wings
Trafficking with sycophants
Sharing his cup amidst other graver things

Alchemists and sorcerers stitched his head
With the stench of pitch and myrrh

The devout faded out but the pagan remained
The candles burnt low and still nothing came
Bearing golden secrets from a cold malevolent race

He would have his demon, he would have his vice
All save his soul was up for sacrifice
Despite their raising not a single hair
Everything stank of witchcraft there

From the stained chapel to the statued lawn
In Caprineum on the lake
To the still lit crypts and the slit of dawn
Sliding down the towers, it all smelt fake

He needed answers not advice, intending to devise
A lengthy train of torture for the fool
Who thought a seance would suffice
Or sighted, furred dragonflies, the signature of Satan on a wall

Sweetest maleficia
Sweetest maleficia

Alchemists and sorcerers stitched his head
With the stench of pitch and myrrh

Planchette to Blanchet, from ghosts to a priest
Returning with a spider for the poisonous feast
The Italian astrologer Prelati, spinning sin

His fingertips were scented with the tears from seraphim cheeks
Part glamor and a hammer, cadaverous and glib
Commanding in a voice of frozen peaks

He would have his demon, he would have his gold
Out of control Gilles' soul was sold
Under mistletoe and the glistening snow
Kissing in the shadow of abandoned saviors

So I shall conjure thee
Demons of the netherworld

The air was sick with trepidation, despair and desperation
Then he fixed his covenant in blood
Now all was rich and tapestried, fragrant wine to shitty mead
His new world opened with a claret flood

Time was right this wretched night
To etch the circles clear again

As a labyrinth of razors led a blind man to the stars
So too Prelati brought the dark
It's name was Barron, eyes like catastrophic tar, imbibed with fire
They fed him shredded infants on an altar full of scars

Entangled in a dream, the mirrors full of steam
He scarce could see Joan's face reflecting through
His last attempt to grasp at God lay blackened in a holy fog
And now there were only devils to pursue

Gilles was wrapped in a velvet spell
Of hell and her seductions

The assassinated days as a Caesar gone by
Barron spitting acid as his magical guide
Lit demonic pyres where once dying embers writhed

Sweetest maleficia
Sweetest maleficia