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You thought it was gone. But the fire goes on. And I thought you knew me. I told you before. 'Til I settle the score. That I'll never run free. I have enough pain and anger in my brain.
I'm chaos international. The writing on the wall. A Lazarus in parable. . A dark and sullen lullaby. Whispered softly as you die. Promising torments are nigh.
Where will you be they tense for warfare?. What will you see with your innocence there?. Where will you be my darling?. Where will you be they tense for warfare?.
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I am she. Lilith. Mistress of the dark. Of Sheba. First offender. And succor to demons. Whose sweet seductions and wicked rites. Lead all too enslaved by the flesh.
As lonely as a poet on the walls of Jericho. Or the moon without the comfort of the stars. I am loathe to know it that a man without a soul. Is nothing but a spilled canopic jar.
Thee I invoke, born-less one, all woman, pure predator. Wherein conspiracy and impulse dwell. Like a seething fall from grace. Thee, I worship. . Thou art darkest Gabrielle.
Thee I invoke, born less one. All woman, pure predator. Where in conspiracy and impulse dwell. Like a seething fall from grace. . Thee I worship. . Thou art darkest Gabrielle.
At the very start. There were whispers in the dark. And for all the world to see. There was witchcraft at its heart. And on the autumn air. The scent of bonfires everywhere.
Poets racking absinthed brains. Could never fully paint these nights. No martyr parting from his pain. Could utter words so erudite. As those she now divulged to me.
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I've never been closer. Of trying to understand. That certain feeling. Carved by another's hand. But it's too late to hesitate. We can't keep on living like this.
I, I still recall the first full moon of May. Neath whose rays we lay together. And those bright nights on glassy waves. When we would glide lightly away.
Biblical choirs soar beyond veiled light. A swansong for ravens trapped flapping in night. . A tragic yet magickal fall from grace. Too awful to taste for the led and the chaste.
He would rise triumphant. All done up. On a plume of raven wings. Trafficking with sycophants. Sharing his cup. Amidst other graver things. . Alchemists and sorcerers stitched his head.
Take away the wine. For restlessness plagues me.... I am assailed by a spectre profounder. Than hatred and grief or the sum of their hideous crime. . I shalt suffer this confessional mime.
Forgive the day's. Last serenades. Her skies they bruise like Nordic women. Deep crimson stains. That Death would claim. His robes of office swim in. .
Through acrid clouds of summer flies. The garden swells with a thousand more wise. Forever flung to celestial dreams. Clawing at the grave of the dead nazarene.
Through acrid clouds of summer flies. The garden swells with a thousand more wise. Forever flung to celestial dreams. Clawing at the grave of the dead nazarene.