Death Magick For Adepts
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Come distortured artists
Bitter things seek meaning
Even if they´re madness to behold
Once forbears to horizons
Where the dead stayed dreaming
Now nightmares waken souls
That fear the living´s toll
Gova, Bosch and Brueghel
Three times moonwise stain thy graves
For words alone are at loss to trace
The face of today´s inhuman wraith
One half adrift in the vast abyss
Of despair and misery
The other a mask of rich red lips
Whetted by the fevers of belief and greed
All damned in this inferno
Where even Virgil averts His eyes
From the black mass mutual gang rape
Of Caesing hands an forced divides