Here sat Babylon. Fattened by the purses of the worst and wrong. Where the decadent tastes of Hell grew strong. Like a curse upon. This tragic kingdom.
When contrary winds blow across the sands. Their murmurs can be easily swayed. But when storms quicken one cannot placate. The howling of their murderous rages.
Poets racking absinthed brains. Could never fully paint these nights. No martyr parting from his pain. Could utter words so erudite. As those she now divulged to me.
The world was her cloister, the abbess Duboir. In the convent at All Hallows fair. A pearl in an oyster she shone like a star. Augmenting her sisterhoods prayers.
At the very start. There were whispers in the dark. And for all the world to see. There was witchcraft at its heart. And on the autumn air. The scent of bonfires everywhere.
I'm chaos international. The writing on the wall. A Lazarus in parable. . A dark and sullen lullaby. Whispered softly as you die. Promising torments are nigh.
Where will you be they tense for warfare?. What will you see with your innocence there?. Where will you be my darling?. Where will you be they tense for warfare?.
I am she. Lilith. Mistress of the dark. Of Sheba. First offender. And succor to demons. Whose sweet seductions and wicked rites. Lead all too enslaved by the flesh.
As lonely as a poet on the walls of Jericho. Or the moon without the comfort of the stars. I am loathe to know it that a man without a soul. Is nothing but a spilled canopic jar.