Honey And Sulphur

"So potent was the star,
under which I was born.
That I have done no one,
in the world has done,
nor can ever do..."

Praeclarum custodem ovium lupum!

All Saints Day,
the taint of rain.
Blood and mud,
and thunder all the same.

To those who close,
their ranks to Gille's men.

Bricqueville,
Prelati and De Sille.
Creatures of the dark,
creeping up and down the countryside.

Brittle Angels out,
to pasture once again.

Torture garden rules of thumb apply,
to sacred flesh and the naked eye.
Golgothic this erotica,
stinking of honey and worse, sulphur.

So black was the magic,
in this tragical kingdom,
that the superstitions grew.

Wise to the wolves,
that surprised their children,
gagged in sacks and dragged back to.

Tiffauges!
It's roads now home,
to a beautiful stranger.

Lifting her veil,
spinning her lies.
Tender eyes,
never-ending danger.

It grows a rose that chose death,
for it's bedmuck.

Prickles in wait,
thanking her spies,
trickling thighs her only hiccup.

And though she walks the forest trails,
she's far from innocent or frail
She leads them down,
the path where darkness dwells.

That night is rife with celebration,
the tower sings.
Where so much foul illumination,
strikes a lighthouse for the things.

That slither and slather,
at the border of the pentagram,
mid sour dreams.

A beauty pageant,
for the gathering damned,
of slaughtered lambs,
and tortured screams.

Torture garden rules of thumb apply,
to sacred flesh and the naked eye.
Golgothic this erotica,
stinking of honey and worse, sulphur.

So black was the magic,
in this tragical kingdom,
in this castle of loup-garou.

When moonstruck veins,
inflamed, deranged on.
A parcel of victims now tied to.

Tiffauges!
Engorged on the hordes,
of the anorexic.

Cherubim forced,
naked and blind.
A holocaust mind,
designed their exit.

A libertine so grim,
sometimes tore them limb from limb.

Slitting their throats,
pissing on graves,
Jesus saved but the Devil made him.

Praeclarum custodem ovium lupum!