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
Grant me the of thy tongue}

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

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

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

Like a siren song
From the lilt of choirs
Where the dead

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

Was it the of the mist
That peopled the air with the of absinthe?
Lost souls begging
From gods upon their plinths
Whose epitaphs read of to win
Remission despair through a holocaust of sin

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

As shadows
The countess fell to masturbating her dagger
As the witch gabbled
Cumming heavy all the way to Hell
As sudden grew harangue
two pincered worlds
Exuding bane, something
With the stench of graves
To clandestines
Who shrank from glimpsing
That the of mating ghouls inclined

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

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

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

On the nails of faith
...