Testi The Twisted Nails of Faith - Cradle Of Filth

The Twisted Nails of Faith

Mirror, mirror on the wall\nShouldst not grave pleasures be my all?\nFor if I shall see thy will be done\nGrant me the Witchcraft of thy tongue\nThree moondials froze in the shadow of six\nAs another soul passed to the grasping styx\nClutching their trinket crucifix\nBats blew from eaves in a dissonant surge\nOmens of corruption from within the church\nA fetid, dank oasis still clung to fool rebirth\nAlone as a stone cold altar\nThe castle and its keep\nLike faerytale dominion rose\nA widow to the snow peaks\nWherein reclined the Countess\nLimbs purring from the kill\nBathed in virgin white and like the night\nAlive and young and unfulfilled\nWas it the cry of a wolf\nThat broke the silver thread of enchanted thoughts?\nOf Her life as a mere reflection\nAs the moon’s in narrow windows caught\nThat opened like dark eyelids on\nThe sigh of the woods that the wind fell upon\nLike a Siren weaving song\nFrom the lilt of choirs choking\nWhere the vengeful dead\nBelong…\nTo the Sorceress and her charnel arts\nShe swept from ebon towers at the hour of Mars\n'Neath a star-inwoven sky latticed by scars\nTo unbind knotted reins that kept in canter, despair\nShod on melancholy, fleet to sanctuary there\nIn netherglades tethered where onyx idols stared\nWas it the kiss of the mist\nThat peopled the air with the prowess of absinthe?\nLost souls begging resurrection\nFrom Gods upon their forest plinths\nWhose epitaphs read of re-ascending to win\nRemission from despair through a holocaust of sin\nIn a tongue hilted in invective rectums\nOver signs and seals the sorceress prayed\nTo Death, to rend the slender veil\nThat Ancient Ones might rise again\nAs shadows swelled\nThe Countess fell\nTo masturbating with her dagger\nAs the Witch gabbled spells\nCumming heavy roses all the way to Hell\nAs sudden thunder’s grue harangue\nAnnounced two pincered worlds\nExuding bane, something came\nWith the stench of necrophiled graves\nTo these clandestines\nWho shrank from glimpsing horror\nThat the growls of mating ghouls inclined\nResplendent\nIn pendants\nNatal trophies torn from bellies of desanctified nuns\nA demons, bewinged, bedight\nIn scum, prowled their circle seeking entry to run\nAn arctic tongue upon her vulva\nWhere rubies smeared to alabaster thighs\nGlittered like a contract in the purse of a whore\nReceiving sole communion from the body of Christ\nIf blood is what thou carves, foul fiend\nI will yield this witch to thee\nIf thou wouldst draw a veil for me\nO’er lengthening scars of age and grief\nAs the Demon slavered foetid vows\nAnd bore his prey away\nIn talons itching to perpetrate\nThe nausea of eternal rape\nThe Sorceress screaming in his grasp\nSpat a final curse to stain\nThe Countess with the promise\nThat her Lord at war would be cruelly slain\nAnd she would rot alone\nInsane\nOn the twisted nails of faith\nOn the twisted nails of faith\nOn the twisted nails of faith