Fattened by the purses of the worst and wrong
Where the decadent tastes of Hell grew strong
Dusk descended like a final curtain
On this stage only death was certain
Singing through the turrets
Sentries and gentry, afforded the bloom
Of a red setting sun and a bloodletting moon
Applauded, then accorded them
They pissed upon the winds
Laughing over those hovels grovelling to wolves
As the world outside grew sodden and mauled
Fattened by the purses of the worst and wrong
Where the decadent tastes of Hell grew strong
Gilles sat sipping damson absinthe
From a goblet made of bone
As lightning ripped and danced upon
Wayward fantasies marched on home
Now the treetops bowed to whisper
They knew the howls so exquisitely honed
Were those of children, disappeared
They'd listened to the winds
Re-christened in the stone jaws of Tiffauges
They now roared abroad, restless with debauch
Would see God's angels walk
His black magic was ecstatic
Megalomaniac in titanic displays
Wicked britches of the West
He cut a mourning figure in glorious swathe
But all his nightmares would come true
Drowning in a stream of unbounded pleasure
Fattened by the purses of the worst and wrong
Where the decadent tastes of Hell grew strong
The moon bleared through the skeletal trees
Averting her face from congenital deeds
Thus eves grew murky, haunted, grieved
About this place laced with demon seed
Blanchet, a priest, his book of lies
Exonerated him from Gilles' crimes
Announced his fears, one night of sighs
A night for cursing nursery rhymes
In the light of the fire wrestling feckless shadows
Gilles' frightening wealth, his tightening grip
On the weak and the rubies that his coffers let slip
Steered to near ruin in successive years
Of the most of excess and the best of it here
In the light of the fire wrestling reckless shadows
WRITERS
CHARLES HEDGER, DANIEL LLOYD DAVEY, DAVE PYBUS, MARK NEWBY-ROBSON, MARTIN SKAROUPKA, PAUL JAMES ALLENDER
