Текст песни

Demons:
Dispossessed, 
Aside thrust, 
Chucked down,
By the sheer might 
Of a despot's will, 
Of a tyrant's frown, 
Who after expelling 
Their hosts, gave, 
Triumphant still, 
And still unjust 
Each forfeit crown 
To psalm-droners,
And canting groaners 
To every slave,
And pious cheat 
And crawling knave, 
Who licked the dust 
Under his feet.

Angel:
It is the restless panting of their being,
Like beasts of prey, who, caged within their bars, 
In a deep hideous purring have their life,
And an incessant pacing to and fro.

Demons:
The mind bold 
And independent 
The purpose free, 
So we are told, 
Must not think
To have the ascendant. 
What's a saint?
One whose breath 
Doth the air taint 
Before his death 
A bundle of bones, 
Which fools adore, 
Ha! Ha!
When life is oe'r. 
Virtue and vice,
A knave's pretence. 
'Tis all the same, 
Ha! ha!
Dread of hell-fire,
Of the venomous flame, 
A coward's plea.
Give him his price, 
Saint though he be, 
Ha! ha!
From shrewd good sense 
He'll slave for hire,
Ha! Ha!
And does but aspire 
To the heaven above 
With sordid aim, 
And not from love. 
Ha! ha!