The Twisted Nails Of Faith

Cradle Of Filth

"Mirror, mirror on the wall 
Shouldst not grave pleasures be my all? 
For i shall see that Will be done 
Grant Me the Witchcraft of thy tongue" 

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

Alone as a stone cold altar 
The castle and its keep 
Like faerytale dominion rose 
A widow to the snowy peaks 
Wherein reclined the Countess 
Limbs purring from the kill 
Bathed in virgin white and like the night 
Alive and young and unfulfilled 

Was it the cry of a wolfe 
That 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 on 
The sight of the woods that the wind fell upon 

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

To the Sorceress and Her charnel arts 
She swept from ebon towers as the hours of Mars 
'Neath a star-inwoven sky lattices by scars 
To unbind knotted reins that kept in canter, despair 
Shod on melancholy, fleet to sanctuary there, 
In netherglades tethered where onyx idols stared 

Was it the Kiss of the mist 
That peopled the air withwith the prowess of absinthe? 
Lost souls begging resurrection 
From Gods upon their forest plinths 
Whose epitaphs read of re-ascending to win 
Remission from despair through a holocaust of sin 

In a tongue hilted in invective rectums 
Over signs and seals the sorceress prayed 
To death, to rend the slender veil 
That Ancient Ones might rise again 

As shadows swelled 
The Countess fell 
To masturbating with Her dagger 
As the Witch gabbled spells 
Cumming heavy roses all the way to Hell 
As sudden thunder's grue harangue 
Announced two pincered worlds 

Exuding bane, something came 
with the stench of necrophiled graves 
To these clandestines 
Who shrank from glimpsing horror 
That the growls of mating ghoulst inclined... 

Resplendent 
In pendants 
(Natal trophies torn from bellies of desanctified nuns) 
A demon, beinged, bedight 
In scum, prowled their circle seeking entry to run 
An arctic tongue upon Her vulva 
Where rubies smeared to albaster thighs 
Glittered like a contract in the purse of a whore 
Receiving sole communion from the body of christ 

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

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

And she would rot. 
Alone 
Insane. 
On the twisted nails of faith.
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