Descend Seraphic Irreverence Lyrics

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Whether He the quaint savant's power doth hold I know not,

Albeit aetat a thousand stars' birth He is -

Quoth I that for reasons to me oblivious

August of a granditude of servants is He held,

And by plastic consonantry e'en more servants to the host added are -

Pelf they are, dare I say!

Maugre His diurnal seraphic deviltry

I say that deviltry - 'tis forsooth deviltry! -

Mind not this in scintillating shades clad is;

To claim the glore is He suffer'd.

"Grant me the fallings", quoth He, "the fatter the better!",

And died they of starvation;

They are not slaughtering their fatlings;

They are slaughtering themselves.

Sith I at time of yester the questions durst ask,

And dare I say this burden weightful was,

Wrack of His machine-like motion was I named,

Tho' blind and fond the jesters rebuilt

The machine alike - yet whetted a dight are its edges...