Luyện nghe bài hát The Twisted Nails Of Faith

{Mirror, on the wall
not grave pleasures be my all?
For if I see thy will be done
Grant me the of thy tongue}

Three Moon dials in the shadow of six
As another soul to the grasping Styx
their trinket crucifix
Bats from caves in a dissonant surge
Omens of corruption from within the
A fetid, dank still clung to full rebirth

Alone as a stone altar
The and its keep
fairytale dominion rose
A widow to the peaks
Wherein reclined the
purring from the kill

Bathed in virgin white and the night
Alive and and unfulfilled
Was it the cry of a
That the silver thread of enchanted thoughts?
Of her life as a mere
As the Moon's in narrow caught
That opened like dark on
The sigh of the woods that the wind fell

Like a siren song
From the lilt of choking
the vengeful dead

To the sorceress and her channel
She swept from ebony towers at the of Mars
'Neath a in woven sky latticed by scars
To unbind knotted reins that kept in canter,
Shod on melancholy, fleet to sanctuary
In nether glades where onyx idols stared

Was it the kiss of the
That peopled the air the prowess of absinthe?
Lost begging resurrection
From gods upon their forest
epitaphs read of re-ascending to win
Remission from through a holocaust of sin

In a hilted in invective rectums
signs and seals, the Sorceress prayed
To death, to rend the slender
ancient ones might rise again

As swelled
The countess fell to masturbating with her
As the witch spells
heavy roses all the way to Hell
As sudden thunder grew
two pincered worlds
Exuding bane, came
With the of necrophiled graves
To these
Who from glimpsing horror
the growls of mating ghouls inclined

Resplendent, in
Natal trophies from bellies of desanctified nuns
A demon, bewigged, bedight in
Prowled circle seeking entry to run
An arctic tongue upon her
rubies smeared to alabaster thighs
Glittered like a contract in the purse of a
Receiving communion from the body of Christ

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

As the demon slavered foetid
And bore his away
In talons itching to
The nausea of eternal
The screaming in his grasp
Spat a final curse to
The Countess with the
her lord at war would be cruelly slain
And she rot alone, insane

On the nails of faith
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