Lustmord and Wargasm II

An archangel in bondage, bediademed and souled. With a murder of ravens, but no less Astarte to behold. Abandoned by heaven to the dead, dark and past. Cast her dispersions on life's brittle glass. And though her eyes still held fire as stonewalls caged the beast, against the lassitudes of Death, she fought but fell to greet. And midst lies in collusion she was martyred to teach, that divinity and lust are forever forbidden to meet. But I swore that they would, before the veil could part our embrace. Twixt her cold, silent hips I kissed, and promised christendom in flames. Gravid with madness, like a feculent dirge, that obsesses the heart. I am covened by words, to avenge her ebon splendour and surrender, my soul to the dead to achieve. Prophecies of libidinous scourge, horripilation braying o'er carious herds. Vexing nightmares and their weak prayers, to a no one there, to hinder her decree. To weed the world of their disease! As shadows unblind mine eyes to see, the meat that is their congregation. How they plead to the skies, but this is mere foreplay to war. Scar-riddled saffron eves bleed like the conjugal. Vestal daughters giving throat to the priest. A psychophant, the despoiler of faith, now his skinless crucifixion feeds a winged diocese. For her interred, I tore a battle banner from his hide. Splashed in red goetia, hues of Hell and deicide. So came the night, its obsidian light, is a master whom disasters suck upon like concubines. And under black skirts that whisper of delight, darkseeds near fruition darked deeds to marry mine. In Death's bed I have lain, paying lip-service to shame. But for dreaming of thee I regain, a reason to seek life again. Then we smite the divine, for our true nature is sin. To strip tender flesh from these swine, like the lick of carnivorous winds. The breath of the storm that begins, by forcing its herod tongue in, the womb of the holy virgin to taste of immaculate sin. From temptation's peak we will see, the world unfurled at last. Now the wolves of time who stalk mankind, shall be as one in grim repast. Commemorating sickle moons, the pack are poised to reap. A scythe of white roses in bloom whose twisted thorns will keep. A crown upon a dead man, daylights crucified in sleep. And lives that hide in scriptured lies to the memories of a scream. And we shall dance amid the ruin as Adam and Evil. Dizzy at the falling stars that burn fiercer in throes of upheaval. If all must we damn for this moment, then it shall be so. For our souls have crossed oceans of time, to clasp one another more tightly than Death could alone. As Zyklon beats reign to make carrion crawl. The talons of lust rake a clarion call, to the lick of carnivorous winds. The lick of carnivorous winds! Gravid with madness, like a feculent dirge, that obsesses the heart. I am covened by words, to avenge her ebon splendour and surrender, my soul to the dead to achieve. Prophecies of libidinous scourge, horripilation braying o'er carious herds. Vexing nightmares and their weak prayers, to a no one there, to hinder her decree. To weed the world of their disease! As shadows unblind mine eyes to see, the meat that is their congregation.