Luyện nghe bài hát Twisting Further Nails

"Mirror, mirror on the
Shouldst not grave be my all?
For if I shall see thy Will be
Me the Witchcraft of thy tongue"

Three moondials froze in the of six
As soul passed to the grasping Styx
their trinket crucifix
Bats blew from eaves in a dissonant
Omens of corruption from the church
A fetid, oasis still clung to fool rebirth

Alone as a cold altar
The castle and its
faerytale dominion rose
A widow to the peaks
Wherein reclined the
Limbs purring the kill
in virgin white and like the night
Alive and young and

Was it the cry of a
That broke the thread of enchanted thoughts?
Of Her life as a mere
(As the moon's in narrow caught)
opened like dark eyelids on
The sigh of the woods the wind fell upon

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

To the Sorceress and Her charnel
She swept from towers at the hour of Mars
'Neath a star-inwoven sky by scars
To unbind knotted that kept in canter, despair
on melancholy, fleet to sanctuary there,
In netherglades tethered where onyx idols

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

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

As swelled
The fell
To masturbating Her dagger
As the Witch spells
heavy roses all the way to Hell
As sudden thunder's harangue
Announced two worlds

Exuding bane, something
With the of necrophiled graves
To these
Who shrank glimpsing horror
That the of mating houls inclined...

In
(Natal trophies torn from bellies of nuns)
A demons, bewinged,
In scum, prowled circle seeking entry to run
An arctic tongue upon Her
Where rubies smeared to alabaster
like a contract in the purse of a whore
Receiving communion from the body of christ

"If is what thou carves, foul fiend
I will yield witch to thee
If thou draw a veil for Me
lengthening scars of age and grief"

As the slavered foetid vows
And His prey away
In itching to perpetrate
The of eternal rape
The Sorceress in His grasp
Spat a curse to stain
The with the promise
That Her at war would be cruelly slain

And She rot.

Insane.
On the nails of faith.