Sweetest Maleficia - Cradle Of Filth

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 containing of my life

He would rise triumphant

All done up

On a plume of craven 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 in dragonflies

The signature of Satan on a wall

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 glamour 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