French Style Furs - Clairvaux Prison lyrics

it is a year of strategy, the bureaucrats, wiping the blood off their fingers in the gates of the temple of reason, have voted to poison the enemy's well they know their danger, they need to throw some dead thing into the living waters that were once Clairvaux, and k** the too clean image in the heart of such a spring you know, it was once Clairvaux nine or a dozen murderers, and a hundred others with the grime of knavery upon them go colonize the ancient cloister on the morrow of the constitution: and in the shadows of the broken church, each dead soul starts to blossom in his sepulcher cursing the comfortable sun heaven, with a strange impa**ivity, show no particular horror for this grim cartoon: let's each new sphinx crouch in his iron hermitage musing the means to end this leprous noviceship and no fire falls, no brimstone buries these absinthial silences or purifies the poisoned sanctuary to a pile of ash god is holding you as evidence, Clairvaux; your faithful gla**, patient of all the grime and blood of the late centuries suffers the face of the new liberty, frames out the new fraternity for all to contemplate: receives equality and holds it fast with a firm hug of locks, that those who have never forgotten the days of Bernard and the first cistercians may read the terror of those messages and fly to keep their freedom in the servitude of grace