Luyện nghe bài hát The Twisted Nails Of Faith

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

Three dials froze in the shadow of six
As another soul passed to the grasping
their trinket crucifix
Bats blew from caves in a surge
Omens of corruption from the church
A fetid, dank oasis clung to full rebirth

Alone as a cold altar
The castle and its
Like fairytale rose
A widow to the snowy
Wherein reclined the
Limbs from the kill

in virgin white and like the night
Alive and young and
Was it the cry of a
That broke the silver 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

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

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

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

In a tongue hilted in rectums
Over and seals, the Sorceress prayed
To death, to rend the veil
That ones might rise again

As swelled
The countess fell to masturbating with her
As the witch gabbled
Cumming roses all the way to Hell
As sudden grew harangue
Announced two pincered
bane, something came
With the stench of graves
To clandestines
Who shrank from horror
That the growls of mating ghouls

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

{If blood is what thou craves, foul
I will this witch to thee
If thou wouldst a veil for me
O'er scars of age and grief}

As the slavered foetid vows
And bore his prey
In talons itching to
The nausea of rape
The Sorceress screaming in his
Spat a final to stain
The Countess the promise
That her lord at war would be cruelly
And she would rot alone,

On the twisted nails of
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