Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Chants for Satan and Marquis de Sade

I’m a priest of my worship
My worship
My worship of the flesh
My worship breeds poison
Needs you
Seeks flowers that are fresh

I sing to the thirst

Of the cursed
Who went down first
To be nursed
By the tip
Of the whip
When they slip
I worship
My worship
Of the stars and the scars
Of ill-versed desires
And ill-fanned bonfires
To light the pyres
of all you liars

My abyss

Seeks your kiss
Your river
Seeks my fever
For mirrors never lie
It’s just that we die

And it’s a funny thing

That we think as we sing
Of the Lion, the mighty king
But our throats get sore
And we sing no more
For the lioness, the whore

I find you in a cage

Like a starving sage
In an empty stage
Acting out his age

But my skin

Is for the queen
And my bones
Are for the stones
And my blood
Shall bring the flood

I sin your virtues

I pin your horse-shoes
And I win when you lose
Dear Mother-goose
So what do you choose?

Yours truly,

A little slowly
A little holy
A little lowly
Yes, it rather odd
That I’m your God
Think not, just be awed
Or else, you’ll be sawed
By a whale well-jawed
With an iron rod
With those spikes all over
She likes when I shove Her!
As I laugh when you blubber
With a stick made of rubber
That you really love Her
That She’s your only lover
That at times you do club Her

My reason

Is your prison
And yours it is mine
I’ll lose the keys
You’ll choose the seas
And all will be fine
But if you set a trap
I’ll go there and crap

I’m the servant

Of the serpent
And I ferment
That fervent torment

And my meat –

That tastes so sweet
Is for you to eat
Before you beat retreat
With all your blessed conceit

And I’ll make haste

To choose a new guest
With more blood to taste
From the tower of my chest
With flowers for the rest
To wish them all the best

For more blood shall flow

Into your plate
Before you know,
And before you go
By that gate
Which you hate

Well, the soothsayer

He can stand and stare
At death that shall float
In the eyes of the goat
And my corpse shall bloat
In the river, by your boat
Where you sing and gloat
Like a pig in a wig
Like graves that I dig
Like a fool and his gig
Like a costume too big
Tanned out of sheep-hide
To fit in all your flipside

You’d thought yourself as a leopard

Yet you chose to follow that Shepherd
And you became a sheep
All ready for my whip

I’ve broken that bloody mirror

For I’m your only terror
And I’m nothing but your eyes
Now, did this come as a surprise?

And as you’re fast asleep

I go on with my worship
My worship of the flesh
My worship breeds poison
Needs reason and your treason
And seeks flowers that are fresh

Well it’s not in Hell

That I really dwell
And you know that as well
Those fires and those pig-sties
Are nothing but some big lies
They teach this in your schools
And trick you, poor fools
To mend those broken rules

To the Goddess those who had lied

They had suffered, they had died
Nowhere to run, there’s no place to hide
You’ll be caught and you’ll be brought
You’ll be tied and you’ll be tried
So come to me and drink my pride

See my flowers scatter

In your blue water
See my glory shine
In your bitter wine
Feel my serpent skin
Writhing with pain within
And my poison breath
It’s ready for your death
As this final kiss
Shall bring you heaven and bliss

Such goes my chant

For Satan and Her Savant
And now you can have Her
And you can make Her shiver
Like that endless river
Flowing on, forever….

if you find this vulgar or blasphemous, you can choose to cringe your plastic-nose at this or else you can choose to take printouts of this to wipe your preposterous or maybe not-that-preposterous posteriors . I won't really mind.

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