Luyện nghe bài hát The Twisted Nails Of Faith

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

Three Moon dials in the shadow of six
As another passed to the grasping Styx
their trinket crucifix
Bats blew from caves in a dissonant
Omens of from within the church
A fetid, dank oasis still to full rebirth

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

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

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

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

Was it the of the mist
That the air with the prowess of absinthe?
Lost souls resurrection
From upon their forest plinths
Whose read of re-ascending to win
Remission from through a holocaust of sin

In a tongue hilted in invective
Over signs and seals, the Sorceress
To death, to rend the slender
That ancient ones might rise

As swelled
The countess fell to with her dagger
As the witch gabbled
Cumming heavy all the way to Hell
As sudden thunder harangue
Announced two worlds
Exuding bane, came
With the stench of graves
To clandestines
Who shrank from glimpsing
That the of mating ghouls inclined

Resplendent, in
Natal torn from bellies of desanctified nuns
A demon, bewigged, in scum
their circle seeking entry to run
An tongue upon her vulva
Where rubies to alabaster thighs
Glittered a contract in the purse of a whore
Receiving sole from the body of Christ

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

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

On the nails of faith
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