The evening air laps thick about

The stagnant moat that Tiffuages claims

As dusk now slips away

Where taught to run, the rotten tongue

Of a hotter GÜtterdämerung

Has started licking like a flame



Whispers in the dismal mist

Are full of crystal promises



Black rites begun in earnest

Ignite Hell's hungry furnace



Behold the bold inauguration of the dark side

Demonic passions climbing

I'll-fated stars aligning



Tonight these sights are guaranteed to feed the master

The tide of blood is rising

His gifts will be providing



Unmasked, the phantom lord De Rais

Haunts the furthest tower

Wherein death has sucked the hour



There, throttled gasps tantamount for foreplay

Unspool red secrets from the young



The moon grinned full, the games were chaste

When the children first arrived

Now midnight shadows crawl apace

To darken council with their lives



Flesh and ecstasy as sport

Are immortal vices of the highest order

Wherein devilry holds sway

Behold blind walls where these cockatrice squalled

Their songs of Necronomicon

Spoke out of Gilles De Rais



Each murdered son, each frozen rose

Handpicked, was gently fed

To the sumptuous one in black and those

Whose lives where thrown in with the dead



The candles lit, the stage was set

As it was in sainted days

When censers swung and banners hung

On the Siege of Orleans on the painted Seine



Now the castle floats in the drifting fog

Torn from it's moorings

Like a shipwreck dredged from Hell

As innocents entreat a shiffing God

Their voices soaring

On a silver tide to heaven

On a knife edge as they fell



The blade would plunge in virulent arcs

Such wounds would stretch away

By the fireside, warmed to creative sparks

Of the monster Gilles De Rais



Gilded Gilles De Rais



The restless bells of crime

Peeled black skin from broken bones

Of angels cut from the nicks of time



Festering faces with painted eyes

The prettiest kept to be thrust inside

Gaping necromantic from the mantle-side

Caked in kissed goodbyes



Days faded in decay

The stench of perfume lied

No horror in the glades of man

Was left for Barrom to provide



So unique was the beat of his poisoned heart

And it's sordid, morbid crack

No further atrocity could possibly surpass

Unrewarded, bored, he turned his burning back