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BENIGHTED LEAMS LYRICS
"Ferly Centesms" (2004)
1. Floccinaucinihilipilification
2. Ferly Centesms
3. Dryad of the Fylfot
4. Orphny of Arain Blood
5. Confraction
6. The Day of Mirandous Sarmassation
7. The Ormod Liss of Transuranical Noctivagations
8. Sullen Slumber of Swooning Gloom
9. The Ice Desert
1. Floccinaucinihilipilification
Aestival ere festivals, ear fest ere, fast seared facinerous fast ere
The daphnean nymph daftly nimmed that sin that was sincere.
2. Ferly Centesms
The astral thrum the barathrum
Lengthening communications gap
Psyche's entropy aphotic isotropy
In the harsh electromagnetic bath.
Clinical depression narcotises decalcification
Ionised nuclei irradiate the deepened isolation.
3. Dryad of the Fylfot
Rather rathe thou raughtst the raik,
Saming sembling dissembling bait.
The fnest the fylfot alow with secundation
Set one ablaze with amansing desideration.
4. Orphny of Arain Blood
Arain blood prilled forth
Bouffage sans gris ort
Wertherian gift sith unsoke
Blored the wit the whist yoked
5. Confraction
Cothurnian fell, the wit confract, thy linning onered as sopor fell;
and flemed I flimmered, yet morn flebled that fettled hell.
Fact of confraction not gery but greme, the german eyrie,
not Nazgul's Eyrie, til morn I mourned that grim lectual eerie.
6. The Day of Mirandous Sarmassation
The fleshing into forwandering into the northward syte of druery
Garred; my bassing into carnation firked then a wayward fact of luxury.
Sans victuals cockshut passed in slumber; in brumal greking in a farer’s chamber
thy witch's boot my leg sned did render, ere the first fey morn of a black September.
7. The Ormod Liss of Transuranical Noctivagations
The frush laid not in lavender the raven-faxed fairy's fumes,
nor did her centesmal lunes benim the ormod liss
of tungsten-tined transuranical gloom.
Beyond the quernal debris, the orphnian cloak did once nake her rear afore a haskard's leer.
8. Sullen Slumber of Swooning Gloom
Taum and raven, thy eyes shalt flimmer and soul sile away;
a wemmed limb, thy cheer sered, last kent one syed May.
Thy treen, plumed vessel sam thy humours hele,
thy wits eaten, one moon in gloom, sans song or seel,
in web or fream we’ll meet and greet, arain or fish I wish, but which?
In lectual lint mould thralls and spells of a dead shite witch.
9. The Ice Desert
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