Let me paint you a portrait of a man 
whose very name would define in times to come all things profane 
Born unto privilege child of aristocracy, 
so tender the young mind, yet so unclean 
His was a heart of darkness that beat within his chest 
Breasting life into the crimes he'd manifest 
Imp of the perverse on a bloody path he trods 
Scribe of the unthinkable the marquis de sade 
Outraging the laws of hate and narcissism 
That to fight the incubation's but in vain 
Nature inspires our tastes bizarre 
She paints them only as they are 
From the darkest corners of the mind as real 
as the morning sun shall rise, just the same 

He wove his written word with threads of flesh throughout 
He promised things so frightening they'll turn you inside out 
When terror's grip has set your soul is set aflame 
Behold the architect of pain 
Unearthing fantasies too savage to reveal 
Twisting your world with visions centuries concealed 
Was he philosopher or was he just insane? 
Behold the architect of pain 

Each tale black as pitch dressed in the colors of hell 
Your dreams will fill with the sounding of the knell 
Feel the looming shadow of the hungry guillotine 
And you'll be blinded by the blade's fatal gleam 
Outraging the laws of both nature and religion 
Subjugation in behalf or her domain 
Or so he believed with all his hate and narcissism 
That to fight the inclination's but in vain 
Nature inspires our tastes bizarre 
She paints them only as they are 
From the darkest corners of the mind as real 
as the morning sun shall rise, just the same 

Nature cannot bind you, you only need to serve unto her 
Harming without stint or cease at the expense of whosoever may be 
Their pain becomes your paradise, your lust their demise 

Forced you to recognize 
The beast within, he helped you to visualize 
No desire to torment flesh and bone 
The mind can cause far greater destruction alone 
When the seed has taken root 
It grows impure, your thoughts pollute 
All things please nature, she has need of our misdeeds 
We serve her as we sin 
The bloodier our opus 
The greater her domain and her esteem for us 

Outraging the laws of both nature and religion 
Subjugation in behalf or her domain 
Or so he believed with all his hate and narcissism 
That to fight the inclination's but in vain 
Nature inspires our tastes bizarre 
She paints them only as they are 
From the darkest corners of the mind as real 
as the morning sun shall rise, just the same