Luyện nghe bài hát The Twisted Nails Of Faith

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

Moon dials froze in the shadow of six
As another soul to the grasping Styx
Clutching trinket crucifix
Bats blew caves in a dissonant surge
Omens of corruption from the church
A fetid, oasis still clung to full rebirth

Alone as a stone altar
The castle and its
Like dominion rose
A to the snowy peaks
reclined the Countess
Limbs purring from the

in virgin 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 like dark eyelids on
The sigh of the woods that the wind fell

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

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

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

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

As swelled
The fell to masturbating with her dagger
As the witch gabbled
Cumming heavy roses all the way to
As sudden thunder grew
two pincered worlds
Exuding bane, something
the stench of necrophiled graves
To these
Who shrank glimpsing horror
That the of mating ghouls inclined

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

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

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

On the twisted of faith
...