Let me paint you a portrait of a man

whose very name would define in times to come all things profane

Born unto privilege child of aristocracy,

so tender the young mind, yet so unclean

His was a heart of darkness that beat within his chest

Breasting life into the crimes he'd manifest

Imp of the perverse on a bloody path he trods

Scribe of the unthinkable the marquis de sade

Outraging the laws of hate and narcissism

That to fight the incubation's but in vain

Nature inspires our tastes bizarre

She paints them only as they are

From the darkest corners of the mind as real

as the morning sun shall rise, just the same



He wove his written word with threads of flesh throughout

He promised things so frightening they'll turn you inside out

When terror's grip has set your soul is set aflame

Behold the architect of pain

Unearthing fantasies too savage to reveal

Twisting your world with visions centuries concealed

Was he philosopher or was he just insane?

Behold the architect of pain



Each tale black as pitch dressed in the colors of hell

Your dreams will fill with the sounding of the knell

Feel the looming shadow of the hungry guillotine

And you'll be blinded by the blade's fatal gleam

Outraging the laws of both nature and religion

Subjugation in behalf or her domain

Or so he believed with all his hate and narcissism

That to fight the inclination's but in vain

Nature inspires our tastes bizarre

She paints them only as they are

From the darkest corners of the mind as real

as the morning sun shall rise, just the same



Nature cannot bind you, you only need to serve unto her

Harming without stint or cease at the expense of whosoever may be

Their pain becomes your paradise, your lust their demise



Forced you to recognize

The beast within, he helped you to visualize

No desire to torment flesh and bone

The mind can cause far greater destruction alone

When the seed has taken root

It grows impure, your thoughts pollute

All things please nature, she has need of our misdeeds

We serve her as we sin

The bloodier our opus

The greater her domain and her esteem for us



Outraging the laws of both nature and religion

Subjugation in behalf or her domain

Or so he believed with all his hate and narcissism

That to fight the inclination's but in vain

Nature inspires our tastes bizarre

She paints them only as they are

From the darkest corners of the mind as real

as the morning sun shall rise, just the same