Luyện nghe bài hát The Twisted Nails Of Faith

{Mirror, mirror on the
Shouldest not grave pleasures be my
For if I shall see thy will be
me the witchcraft of thy tongue}

Three Moon dials froze in the of six
As another soul passed to the Styx
Clutching trinket crucifix
Bats blew from caves in a surge
Omens of corruption within the church
A fetid, dank oasis still clung to rebirth

Alone as a cold altar
The and its keep
Like dominion rose
A widow to the snowy
Wherein the Countess
Limbs purring the kill

in virgin white and like the night
Alive and young and
Was it the cry of a
That broke the silver thread of enchanted
Of her life as a mere
As the Moon's in narrow caught
That like dark eyelids on
The sigh of the that the wind fell upon

a siren weaving song
From the lilt of choirs
the vengeful dead

To the sorceress and her arts
She swept from ebony towers at the hour of
a stars in woven sky latticed by scars
To unbind knotted that kept in canter, despair
Shod on melancholy, fleet to there
In nether glades tethered onyx idols stared

Was it the kiss of the
That the air with the prowess of absinthe?
Lost souls begging
gods upon their forest plinths
Whose epitaphs of re-ascending to win
Remission from despair a holocaust of sin

In a hilted in invective rectums
Over signs and seals, the Sorceress
To death, to rend the veil
That ancient might rise again

As swelled
The countess fell to with her dagger
As the gabbled spells
Cumming roses all the way to Hell
As thunder grew harangue
Announced two worlds
Exuding bane, came
the stench of necrophiled graves
To clandestines
Who shrank glimpsing horror
That the growls of mating inclined

Resplendent, in
Natal trophies torn from bellies of desanctified
A demon, bewigged, bedight in
Prowled their circle seeking to run
An arctic tongue her vulva
Where rubies to alabaster thighs
Glittered like a contract in the purse of a
Receiving sole from the body of Christ

{If blood is what thou craves, fiend
I will yield this to thee
If thou wouldst draw a for me
lengthening scars of age and grief}

As the demon foetid vows
And his prey away
In talons to perpetrate
The nausea of eternal
The Sorceress in his grasp
Spat a final curse to
The with the promise
That her lord at war would be cruelly
And she rot alone, insane

On the twisted of faith
...