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Godspeed on the Devil's Thunder Songtext
von Cradle of Filth

Godspeed on the Devil's Thunder Songtext

This is the moment I go to God

Burning like derision on the prism of night
Still squirming from the sermon, those determined parasites
Meant to overpower and bedizen his light
He paced his tower prison with a dissonant appetite
The moon was black

Devil may care
Three times he′d glared before his judges, darkening there
With a wormwood mind and a gullet of poison

Asked, he thought the court a farce
His tongue as sharp as glass
A bastard to the last
This truth assassin tautened his claws at the ruinous cast
Flexing vexation at clerics aghast
In uproar he caused the cross to be masked
And the hex of exile from God's Kingdom passed


Back in the mirror, shattered vanity died
The curse even clearer on the sanity side
Banished from the lavish tracts of paradise
From Heaven′s shores poured to the sore divide
The moon was black

Devil may care
Their thunder sundered all his veils, thickening there
His beligerent pulse to a sickening crawl

Yes, he'd fostered wickedness
Fed vipers at his breast
Inflicted death's caress
So now to suffer
He′d burn, discern
That his second turn
Would last for eternity in reckoning flames

That night his plight marched in demented parades
O′er a rainbow of black magic scars
The blood ran to fear, turned to torment in spades
Deep in the sleep of this heretic, barred
The nightmares were livid, occultist, depraved
His epiphany struggled to come
But dawn found him there, redemptive, prepared
Like Christ to Golgotha
His face to the sun


All fears were smeared
When Joan had appeared in a shower of tears
Last vestige of innocence
Yearning for her vision of divinity
Of her miracles and dreamt lyrical deeds
He would meet her at the pyre as the fire kissed
And together they'd climb to God, entwined in bliss

Devil may care
He awed the court with a sworn confession, quickening there
His radiant death and acute renewal

Thus, the end was glorious
He went like Jesus trussed
To shadow and to dust
At the stroke of seven

And, with thieves at both his hands
The Reaper of these lands
Wept with holy plans
As he choked to heaven

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