| Lyrics |
by Charles Baudelaire
No rage, no rancor: I shall beat youas butchers fell an ox,as Moses smote the rock in Horeb-I shall make you weep,and by the waters of afflictionmy desert will be slaked.
My desire, that hope has made monstrous,will frolic in your tearsas a ship tosses on the ocean-in my besotted heartyour adorable sobs will echolike an ecstatic drum.
For I - am I not a dissonancein the divine accord,because of the greedy Ironywhich infiltrates my soul?I hear it in my voice - that shrillness,that poison in my blood!I am the sinister glass in whichthe Fury sees herself!I am the knife and the wound it deals,I am the slap and the cheek,I am the wheel and the broken limbs,hangman and victim both!I am the vampire at my own veins,one of the great lost hordedoomed for the rest of my time, and beyond,'to laugh - and smile no more'(
Taken from Les Fleurs du Mal, translated by Richard Howard)
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