Rotting Christ visualizes their song Les Litanies De Satan
It’s seems extreme metal genres are getting more and more visual lately. Just days after Behemoth unleased their latest official video, Rotting Christ caught up with the chase. They released their latest album called Rituals just under two months ago, and now one the most occult tracks of the album gets an official lyric video.
The video consists of the lyrics shown as they are sung in an eerie font, accompanied by images that fit so well Charles Baudelaire himself might be proud of it. For those of you who don’t know this song, or the iconic words to it, Les Litanies de Satan is a poem by a long lost poet from France. Charles Baudelaire wrote about the ever changing nature of beauty in a industrialized world. Publishing his best known work Les Fleurs Du Mal in 1857, he was credited with the term modernity to designate the experience of life in an urban metropolis, and the responsibility art has to capture that experience.
Although, for those who don’t speak French very well, this might not make too much sense. Don’t worry, we translated it for you so you know what it is you’re screaming when this song comes up. Check it underneath the video.
Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère !
Ô toi, le plus savant et le plus beau des Anges.
Dieu trahi par le sort et privé de louanges.
Ô Prince de l’exil, à qui l’on a fait tort,
et qui, vaincu, toujours te redresses plus fort.
Toi qui sais tout, grand roi des choses souterraines,
guérisseur familier des angoisses humaines.
Toi qui, même aux lépreux, aux parias maudits,
enseignes par l’amour le goût du Paradis.
Ô toi qui de la Mort, ta vieille et forte amante,
engendras l’Espérance, — une folle charmante!
Toi qui fais au proscrit ce regard calme et haut,
qui damne tout un peuple autour d’un échafaud.
Toi qui sais en quels coins des terres envieuses,
le Dieu jaloux cacha les pierres précieuses.
Ô Satan! Ô Satan!
Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère ! (x3)
Toi dont l’oeil clair connaît les profonds arsenaux,
où dort enseveli le peuple des métaux.
Toi dont la large main cache les précipices,
au somnambule errant au bord des édifices.
Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère ! (x12)
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
O you, the wisest and fairest of the Angels,
God betrayed by destiny and deprived of praise.
O Prince of Exile, you who have been wronged,
and who vanquished always rise up more strong.
You who know all, great king of hidden things underground,
the familiar healer of human sufferings.
You who, even to the leper, the cursed pariah,
teaches through love the taste for Heaven,
You who of Death, your mistress old and strong,
Have begotten Hope, — a charming madcap!
You give the outlaw that calm and lofty look,
that damns the whole all around his scaffold.
You who know in what nooks of miserly earth,
a jealous God has hidden precious stones.
O Satan! O Satan!
O Satan, take pity on my long misery! (x3)
You, whose clear eye knows all the deep arsenals,
where the tribe of metals sleeps in its tomb.
You whose broad hand conceals the precipice,
to sleepwalkers wandering building’s ledge.
O Satan, take pity on my long misery! (x12)