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.
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.
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.
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.
He would rise triumphant. All done up. On a plume of raven wings. Trafficking with sycophants. Sharing his cup. Amidst other graver things. . Alchemists and sorcerers stitched his head.
Eclipsing violent centuries. Like a dark scar over France. Enter the nascent Gilles De Rais. A warrior and a scholar. He fought for Joan Of Arc. Before she met with martyrdom in flames.
She slept in ecstasy. In hands that fanned her wildest fantasies. Freed from Christ's frigid regime. And rigid nails. . She was first in church. To lick her lips and self-debased.
The Feast of Fools, 1308. As January slipped into the grip of winter. A leather leash tightened round the throat of fate. . Amidst the flock, disease and dementia.
The evening air laps thick about. The stagnant moat that Tiffuages claims. As dusk now slips away. Where taught to run, the rotten tongue. Of a hotter Götterdämerung.
Church bells resounded like judgment day. As they were making love. In the rainswept graveyard. She fucked him hard, silhouetted by flame. A monsoon Tigress set upon prey.
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.
Where does the madness end?. How far down do the rungs expire. In smoke and burning heat?. In depravity and sin?. . In her shocking retinue. I saw the worst.
Forgive me Father, I have sinned. Darkness put her painted claws in me again. Her vision drowns like service wine. Whispered kisses so divine. I was blessed but now I've come undone.