Luyện nghe bài hát The Twisted Nails Of Faith

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

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

Alone as a stone cold
The and its keep
Like dominion rose
A to the snowy peaks
Wherein reclined the
Limbs purring the kill

Bathed in white and like the night
Alive and young and
Was it the cry of a
broke the silver thread of enchanted thoughts?
Of her as a mere reflection
As the Moon's in windows caught
That opened like eyelids on
The sigh of the woods that the fell upon

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

To the and her channel arts
She swept from towers at the hour 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
peopled the air with the prowess of absinthe?
Lost souls resurrection
From gods their forest plinths
epitaphs read of re-ascending to win
Remission from despair a holocaust of sin

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

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

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

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

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

On the twisted nails of
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