Luyện nghe bài hát Twisting Further Nails

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

Three moondials in the shadow of six
As soul passed to the grasping Styx
Clutching their crucifix
Bats from eaves in a dissonant surge
Omens of from within the church
A fetid, dank oasis clung to fool rebirth

Alone as a stone altar
The castle and its
faerytale dominion rose
A to the snow peaks
Wherein reclined the
Limbs purring the kill
Bathed in virgin white and the night
Alive and 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 like dark eyelids on
The sigh of the woods that the wind fell

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

To the and Her charnel arts
She swept from ebon towers at the of Mars
'Neath a sky latticed by scars
To knotted reins that kept in canter, despair
Shod on melancholy, to sanctuary there,
In netherglades tethered where onyx idols

Was it the Kiss of the
That the air with the prowess of absinthe?
souls begging resurrection
From Gods their forest plinths
Whose epitaphs read of to win
from despair through a holocaust of sin

In a tongue hilted in rectums
Over signs and seals the sorceress
To Death, to the slender veil
That Ancient Ones might rise

As shadows
The Countess
To with Her dagger
As the gabbled spells
Cumming heavy all the way to Hell
As thunder's grue harangue
Announced two pincered

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

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

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

As the Demon foetid vows
And bore His prey
In talons to perpetrate
The of eternal rape
The Sorceress screaming in His
Spat a final to stain
The Countess with the
Her lord at war would be cruelly slain

And She rot.

Insane.
On the twisted of faith.