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"Mirror, mirror on the wallShouldst not grave pleasures be my all?For if I shall see thy Will be doneGrant Me the Witchcraft of thy tongue"Three moondials froze in the shadow of sixAs another soul passed to the grasping StyxClutching their trinket crucifixBats blew from eaves in a dissonant surgeOmens of corruption from within the churchA fetid, dank oasis still clung to fool rebirthAlone as a stone cold altarThe castle and its keepLike faerytale dominion roseA widow to the snow peaksWherein reclined the CountessLimbs purring from the killBathed in virgin white and like the nightAlive and young and unfulfilledWas it the cry of a wolfThat broke the silver thread of enchanted thoughts?Of Her life as a mere reflection(As the moon's in narrow windows caught)That opened like dark eyelids onSongtexteThe sigh of the woods that the wind fell uponLike a Siren weaving songFrom the lilt of choirs chokingWhere the vengeful deadBelong...To the Sorceress and Her charnel artsShe swept from ebon towers at the hour of Mars'Neath a star-inwoven sky latticed by scarsTo unbind knotted reins that kept in canter, despairShod on melancholy, fleet to sanctuary there,In netherglades tethered where onyx idols staredWas it the Kiss of the mistThat peopled the air with the prowess of absinthe?Lost souls begging resurrectionFrom Gods upon their forest plinthsWhose epitaphs read of re-ascending to winRemission from despair through a holocaust of sinIn a tongue hilted in invective rectumsOver signs and seals the sorceress prayedTo Death, to rend the slender veilThat Ancient Ones might rise againAs shadows swelledThe Countess fellTo masturbating with Her daggerAs the Witch gabbled spellsCumming heavy roses all the way to HellAs sudden thunder's grue harangueAnnounced two pincered worldsExuding bane, something cameWith the stench of necrophiled gravesTo these clandestinesWho shrank from glimpsing horrorThat the growls of mating houls inclined...ResplendentIn pendants(Natal trophies torn from bellies of desanctified nuns)A demons, bewinged, bedightIn scum, prowled their circle seeking entry to runAn arctic tongue upon Her vulvaWhere rubies smeared to alabaster thighsGlittered like a contract in the purse of a whoreReceiving sole communion from the body of christ"If blood is what thou carves, foul fiendI will yield this witch to theeIf thou wouldst draw a veil for MeO'er lengthening scars of age and grief"As the Demon slavered foetid vowsAnd bore His prey awayIn talons itching to perpetrateThe nausea of eternal rapeThe Sorceress screaming in His graspSpat a final curse to stainThe Countess with the promiseThat Her lord at war would be cruelly slainAnd She would rot.AloneInsane.On the twisted nails of faith. Aus Songtexte Mania