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Theatre Of Tragedy - seraphic devillry - текст песни

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Theatre Of Tragedy - seraphic devillry - текст песни

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Уроки эстрадного вокала в Санкт-Петербурге
Whether He the quaint savant's power doth held I now not, 
Albeit aetat a thousand stars' birth He is - 
Zuoth 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 added are - 
Pelf they are, dare I say! 
Maugre His diurnal serphic 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", gouth 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 whettйd and dight are its edges...
Добавлено: 21.08.2013
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