Les Litanies De Satan (Les Fleurs Du Mal)
- Rotting Christ (2016)You are listening to the song Les Litanies De Satan (Les Fleurs Du Mal) by Rotting Christ, in album Rituals. The highest quality of audio that you can download is flac . Also, you can play quality at 32kbps, view lyrics and watch more videos related to this song.
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Lyrics
Ô Satan prends pitié de ma longue misère!
Ô toi le plus savant et le plus beau des Anges
Dieu trahi par le sort et privé de louanges
Ô Prince de l'exil à qui l'on a fait tort
Et qui vaincu toujours te redresses plus fort.
Toi qui sais tout grand roi des choses souterraines
Guérisseur familier des angoisses humaines
Toi qui même aux lépreux aux parias maudits
Enseignes par l'amour le goût du Paradis
Ô toi qui de la Mort ta vieille et forte amante
Engendras l'Espérance — une folle charmante!
Toi qui fais au proscrit ce regard calme et haut
Qui damne tout un peuple autour d'un échafaud
Toi qui sais en quels coins des terres envieuses
Le Dieu jaloux cacha les pierres précieuses.
Ô Satan prends pitié de ma longue misère! (x3)
Toi dont l'oeil clair connaît les profonds arsenaux
Où dort enseveli le peuple des métaux
Toi dont la large main cache les précipices
Au somnambule errant au bord des édifices.
Ô Satan prends pitié de ma longue misère! (x12)
English translation:
O Satan take pity on my long misery!
O you the wisest and fairest of the Angels
God betrayed by destiny and deprived of praise
O Prince of Exile you who have been wronged
And who vanquished always rise up again more strong.
You who know all great king of hidden things
The familiar healer of human sufferings
You who teach through love the taste for Heaven
To the cursed pariah even to the leper
You who of Death your mistress old and strong
Have begotten Hope — a charming madcap!
You who give the outlaw that calm and haughty look
That damns the whole multitude around his scaffold.
You who know in what nooks of the miserly earth
A jealous God has hidden precious stones.
O Satan take pity on my long misery! (x3)
You whose clear eye sees the deep arsenals
Where the tribe of metals sleeps in its tomb
You whose broad hand conceals the precipice
From the sleep-walker wandering on the building's ledge.
O Satan take pity on my long misery! (x12)
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