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 be done
me the witchcraft of thy tongue}

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

Alone as a cold altar
The castle and its
Like fairytale rose
A to the snowy peaks
reclined the Countess
Limbs purring the kill

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

Like a siren weaving
From the lilt of choking
Where the vengeful

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

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

In a hilted in invective rectums
Over signs and seals, the prayed
To death, to the slender veil
That ancient ones might again

As shadows
The countess to masturbating with her dagger
As the witch spells
Cumming roses all the way to Hell
As sudden grew harangue
Announced two pincered
Exuding bane, something
With the stench of graves
To these
Who shrank from glimpsing
That the growls of mating ghouls

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

{If blood is what thou craves, foul
I yield this witch to thee
If thou wouldst draw a for me
O'er lengthening scars of age and

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

On the twisted nails of
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