The Cult Of Venus Aversa

"I am she, Lilith!
Mistress of the dark of Sheba,
first offender, and succour to demons.

Whose sweet seductions and wicked rites
lead all those too enslaved by the flesh
to trespass against God's holy law.
And tonight I come for you..."

Midnight strikes, the candles sputter,
muttering their reeking spells.
I snuff their tongues, my heart a-flutter,
these words I speak are gates to Hell.

Casus belli,
in hoc signo vinces.
Veritas vos liberabit.

Casus belli,
in hoc signo vinces.
In aeturnum, amen.

Casus belli,
in hoc signo vinces.
Veritas vos liberabit.

Casus belli,
in hoc signo vinces.
In aeturnum, amen.

The scent of Death is rent
in this ornamental verse.
It ventures down the centuries,
tormenting me with secrets so anathema.

And now the fires grate,
I must relate to end this curse.
I'll break through spires to escape my fate,
Am I too late or just perverse?

Midnight strikes, the candles sputter,
muttering their reeking spells.
I snuff their tongues, my heart a-flutter,
these words I speak are gates to Hell.

So the blight begins near the
woodland of a frightened village
where the rites of unimaginable sin,
and the howling on the wind chills
the blood for fear of spillage.

Where nightfall used to be
blessed with best tranquility,
its now caressed by misadventure.

Templars cursed from the crusades
have birthed a church, more masquerade
in which they worship mass dementia.

They came from dust and flame
by the Red Sea on dead shores,
fleeing claims of blasphemy
and bestiality.

Devils fed them back to us!

Knights of holy wars inviting
hordes of grim infidelities,
in the grip of cryptic lands and
desert sands they found just cause.

And midst their entourage under the stars
they brought relics and parts of saints,
and evil left to clerics charge.

With Muslim plunder they built their
sect to the composite Baphomet.
An androgynous sphinx, open, erect,
universal in its closet display.

Spawn of Lilith and Samael,
first offender and the snake.
In thrall like pawns beneath its spell
the Templars grew to astute surrender.

Sabbatical, fanatical
they adorned its monstrous bust
with a king's ransom of Eastern jewels,
the embodiment of beast and lust.

Many moons then proved the boon
of immutable and beautiful
darkness ever-afters.

Then one eve when the ancient trees
outside drew back unnerved,
the pleas from those impatient teased
something from the black beyond of nowhere.

A stunning woman summoned,
coming scimitar-curved.
Statuesque but living flesh
draping nakedness about their
pagan saviour.

She came Lilith,
a perfect myth,
The scarlet whore.

Skinned in magnificence,
in her defence she only
slew a few of them.

Born of a sacrifice, a virgin's price
for the merging with a Goddess.
She prowled the world again,
enslaving men with the surging of her bodice.

Midnight strikes, the candles sputter,
muttering their reeking spells.
I snuff their tongues, my heart a-flutter,
these words I speak are gates to Hell.

Casus belli,
in hoc signo vinces.
Veritas vos liberabit.

Casus belli,
in hoc signo vinces.
In aeturnum, amen.

Casus belli,
in hoc signo vinces.
Veritas vos liberabit.

Casus belli,
in hoc signo vinces.
In aeturnum, amen.