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 be done
Grant me the witchcraft of thy

Three Moon dials froze in the of six
As another soul passed to the Styx
Clutching trinket crucifix
Bats blew from caves in a dissonant
Omens of corruption within the church
A fetid, dank oasis clung to full rebirth

Alone as a stone cold
The castle and its
Like dominion rose
A widow to the snowy
Wherein the Countess
Limbs purring from the

Bathed in virgin 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 mere
As the Moon's in windows caught
That opened dark eyelids on
The sigh of the woods that the wind fell

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

To the and her channel arts
She swept from ebony at the hour of Mars
'Neath a in woven sky latticed by scars
To unbind reins that kept in canter, despair
Shod on melancholy, fleet to there
In nether glades where onyx idols stared

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

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

As swelled
The countess fell to masturbating with her
As the gabbled spells
Cumming roses all the way to Hell
As thunder grew harangue
Announced two worlds
Exuding bane, came
With the of necrophiled graves
To these
Who from glimpsing horror
That the growls of ghouls inclined

Resplendent, in
Natal trophies torn bellies of desanctified nuns
A demon, bewigged, in scum
Prowled their circle seeking to run
An arctic tongue her vulva
Where rubies to alabaster thighs
Glittered like a contract in the of a whore
Receiving sole communion the body of Christ

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

As the demon slavered foetid
And bore his prey
In talons itching to
The nausea of rape
The screaming in his grasp
a final curse to stain
The Countess with the
That her at war would be cruelly slain
And she rot alone, insane

On the twisted nails of
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