Sometimes I Feel My Blood is Spilling Out in Sobs, the Way a Fountain Overflows.
Click to viewThe reason that I found this amazing song is because I bought Charles Boudelaire's Flowers of Evil book of poetry today
Although the copy I have is titled Fleurs du Mal (same thing only in French)
It has the original french text in the back and one of the more widely loved translations for the english part
The poems are dark and deal with death, decay, lust, anger, all the lovely dark things I come to enjoy but run away from entirely ^-^
Spleen
I have more memories than if I'd lived a thousand years.
A heavy chest of drawers cluttered with balance-sheets,
Processes, love-letters, verses, ballads,
And heavy locks of hair enveloped in receipts,
Hides fewer secrets than my gloomy brain.
It is a pyramid, a vast burial vault
Which contains more corpses than potter's field.
- I am a cemetery abhorred by the moon,
In which long worms crawl like remorse
And constantly harass my dearest dead.
I am an old boudoir full of withered roses,
Where lies a whole litter of old-fashioned dresses,
Where the plaintive pastels and the pale Bouchers,
Alone, breathe in the fragrance from an opened phial.
Nothing is so long as those limping days,
When under the heavy flakes of snowy years
Ennui, the fruit of dismal apathy,
Becomes as large as immortality.
- Henceforth you are no more, O living matter!
Than a block of granite surrounded by vague terrors,
Dozing in the depths of a hazy Sahara
An old sphinx ignored by a heedless world,
Omitted from the map, whose savage nature
Sings only in the rays of a setting sun.
- William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
taken from: http://fleursdumal.org/