Luyện nghe bài hát Twisting Further Nails

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

Three moondials in the shadow of six
As another soul to the grasping Styx
their trinket crucifix
Bats blew from eaves in a dissonant
of corruption from within the church
A fetid, dank oasis clung to fool rebirth

Alone as a cold altar
The castle and its
Like faerytale dominion
A widow to the snow
Wherein reclined the
Limbs purring the kill
Bathed in virgin and like the night
Alive and and unfulfilled

Was it the cry of a
That 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 that the wind fell upon

Like a weaving song
From the lilt of choking
Where the dead
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 that kept in canter, despair
Shod on melancholy, to sanctuary there,
In netherglades where onyx idols stared

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

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

As swelled
The Countess
To masturbating with Her
As the gabbled spells
Cumming roses all the way to Hell
As thunder's grue harangue
two pincered worlds

Exuding bane, something
With the stench of graves
To clandestines
Who shrank glimpsing horror
the growls of mating houls inclined...

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

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

As the Demon slavered foetid
And His prey away
In talons to perpetrate
The nausea of rape
The Sorceress in His grasp
Spat a final curse to
The with the promise
Her lord at war would be cruelly slain

And She rot.

Insane.
On the twisted of faith.