Sweetest Maleficia Lyrics - Cradle Of Filth

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 

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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 in dragonflies 

The signature of Satan on a wall 

Sweetest Maleficia 

Planchette to Blanchet, from ghosts to a priest 

Returning with a spider for the poisonous feast 

The Italian astrologer Prelati, spinning sin 

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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 

(From the banquet hall to the stable gates 

A graveyard shift in tone 

Sank upon the castle, like a papal weight 

Or a deep philosophical stone) 

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