Lorelei - Theatre Of Tragedy, Icon Of Coil

Færie dearest, was it loe soothfast or a façade;

A serenade siren’d to lure — Zounds!

not to court me?

A mænad, yet the sweetest colleen —

Certes didst thou me unveil meekly life pristine

Lorelei

A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death

Yet who the hell was I to dare?

Lorelei

Canst thou not see thou to me needful art?

Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is?

Dædally didst thou perform the tragic pasquinade

For all years a damndest and driegh’d accolade —

Caus’d for all eyes mazéd to behold a mêlée;

In the midst did I swainly cast thee my bouquet:

The one and sole faggot that feedeth the fire

Bellow´d bidingly by my heart’s quailing quire

Lorelei

A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death

Yet who the hell was I to dare?

Lorelei

Canst thou not see thou to me needful art?

Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is?

Perchance author I thee this ikon’d apologue for aught

Doth the wecht burthen thee?, then bethink thine afterthought:

'Tween Æther and 'Nether art thou the peerless phœnix —

Prithee, darlingmost!

— court me rather than the peevish prolix