Текст песни: Cradle Of Filth. Thornography. The Byronic Man.

As lonely as a poet on the Walls of Jericho
Or the moon without the comfort of the stars
I am loathe to know it that a man without a soul
Is nothing but a split canopic jar

I proved it, improved it
Drove a sonnet right through it
And in this state of bliss
Evil kissed with wet lips, pen-filled fingertips

Which through me, far through me
Illuminati usually pissed
But with words of some hurts worth
I threw a party that extended God's list

Exciting new flames that my fame would claim for me
Reciting back the almanac of travesties

They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch in excess and in canto

Grown wild, this child
Whole harems defiled
Faustina's and Mina's
Lady Libertine and her sisters between her

What spread of lies when lovers die
Which circle of hell is mine when I arrive

They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch crow against the virgin snow

Grown colder, my shoulder
Like a boulder beside her
And bolder, not wiser
My dark seed took up root inside her

That mouldered, where older
Beddings would hold a passionate sigh
But Laudanum and soda, Lord Numb coda
Merited a forest of inherited spite

Fleeing grief for foreign maps
I still played vampire aristocrats
Unloading my gun in hot promiscuous laps

Then shooting swans in a gondola
I tripped my foot on a fallen star
And there's nothing like a mouthful of Venetian tar
To let you know just who you fucking are

The patron saint of heartache
I can't see my world is falling
The world is falling down

The patron saint of heartache
I can't see my world is falling
The world is falling down

Everafter can they hear my laughter
The patron saint of heartache
Never craft a better bed of disaster
The patron saint of heartache

They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch in excess and in canto

They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manners dangerous to know
A passing fad
Whereupon I tell them to go fuck their mothers
And so on my grave