Luyện nghe bài hát Twisting Further Nails

"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 moondials froze in the of six
As another soul passed to the Styx
Clutching trinket crucifix
blew from eaves in a dissonant surge
Omens of corruption from the church
A fetid, oasis still clung to fool rebirth

Alone as a stone cold
The castle and its
Like faerytale rose
A to the snow peaks
Wherein reclined the
Limbs purring from the
Bathed in virgin white and like the
and young and unfulfilled

Was it the cry of a
That broke the silver thread of thoughts?
Of Her as a mere reflection
(As the moon's in windows caught)
That opened dark eyelids on
The sigh of the woods that the wind fell

Like a Siren weaving
the lilt of choirs choking
Where the vengeful
Belong...

To the and Her charnel arts
She from ebon towers at the hour of Mars
'Neath a star-inwoven sky latticed by
To unbind knotted reins that kept in canter,
Shod on melancholy, to sanctuary there,
In netherglades tethered where onyx stared

Was it the of the mist
peopled the air with the prowess of absinthe?
Lost begging resurrection
From Gods upon their plinths
Whose read of re-ascending to win
Remission from despair a holocaust of sin

In a tongue hilted in invective
signs and seals the sorceress prayed
To Death, to rend the veil
That Ones might rise again

As swelled
The Countess
To masturbating Her dagger
As the gabbled spells
Cumming heavy all the way to Hell
As sudden thunder's harangue
two pincered worlds

Exuding bane, came
the stench of necrophiled graves
To these
Who from glimpsing horror
That the growls of houls inclined...

In
(Natal trophies torn from of desanctified nuns)
A demons, bewinged,
In scum, prowled their seeking entry to run
An arctic tongue Her vulva
Where rubies to alabaster thighs
Glittered like a contract in the of a whore
Receiving communion from the body of christ

"If blood is thou carves, foul fiend
I will this witch to thee
If wouldst draw a veil for Me
O'er scars of age and grief"

As the Demon slavered vows
And bore His away
In talons to perpetrate
The nausea of eternal
The Sorceress screaming in His
Spat a curse to stain
The Countess with the
That Her lord at war would be cruelly

And She rot.

Insane.
On the twisted of faith.