The Byronic Man Cradle of Filth (Ft. Ville Valo)

As lonely as a poet on the walls of Jericho
Or the moon without the comfort of the stars
I am loath to know it that a man without a soul
Is nothing but a split canopic jar

I proved it, improved it
Drove a sonnet right through it
And in this state of bliss
Evil kissed with wet lips
Pen-filled fingertips
Which drew me, for through me
Illuminati usually pissed
But with words of some hurts worth
I threw a party that extended God's list

Exciting new flames that my fame would claim for me
Reciting back the almanac of travesties

They call me bad
Mad Caliban with manner
Dangerous to know
A passing fad
Taught in all debauch
In excess and in canto

Grown wild this child
Whole harems defiled
Faustina's and Mina's
Lady Libertine and her sisters between her