If my praise her grace effaces, Then ’tis not my heart that showeth, But the skilless tongue that soweth Words unworthy of her graces. Tongue, that hath me so betrayed, Were my heart but here displayed, Then were sung her fitting praises.
“The Devil pulls the strings which make us dance;
We find delight in the most loathsome things;
Some furtherance of Hell each new day brings,
And yet we feel no horror in that rank advance.”
Charles Baudelaire
INSTAGRAM
BANDCAMP
YOUTUBE